


The Foxglove

by sailtheplains



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ballet, Duelist, F/M, Old God Baby - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, fire dance, first kill, flamenco, implied past Inquisitor/Thom Rainier, noble lady, past Thom Rainier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: I wanted to write about a noble woman who was gentle and proper but also kind--rather than bullheaded and fiery, as I've sometimes seen (and written myself--its not bad at all, just wanted to try something different. Most of my lady Inquisitors are fierce).She's a dream to sell to the nobles. Josephine loves it. Cullen is awkward. Change is never easy. And the price can be high.





	1. Mask

Even frazzled and dizzy and reeling from the pain the Mark caused her, Amarina kept her composure. When the mark ripped through her again in front of Solas, Varric, Cassandra, Leliana and Chancellor Rodrick, she kept her feet, taking several deep breathes. But she did not cry out, no awkward sounds or faint whimpers. She looked down at the Mark as if it had personally offended her.

Cassandra looked at Leliana. “Take our soldiers into the valley.”

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

Cassandra looked away.

“My lord,” Amarina said, lifting her chin. “Lady Pentaghast is doing everything she can to save the people here, including yourself. This rudeness is unnecessary and unbecoming of a Chantry servant when Lady Pentaghast and Lady Leliana were the Left and Right hands of the Divine. While you would do nothing, Lord Chancellor, they would act.” And she turned smartly to stride after the Seeker.

Rodrick looked stunned for a moment and then scowled.

Varric chuckled to himself as he followed.

 

 

Amarina was the second daughter of Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick. The fifth child and the youngest. Classically trained in violin, lute, harp and dance, she was made to be a lady. She would rather read than fight, discuss philosophy over politics and paint over camping—but she was also raised not to complain. If she must express her disapproval of any situation, she was to handle herself with poise. Always. 

She took to it with determination. Of her three brothers and elder sister, they had all been successful and clever. As the youngest, nothing she could do would ever surpass anything they had done but she also could never do less.

She was now filthy, covered in sweat, blood and grime. She’d been spoken to very rudely by several people and she was considerably frightened by the demons. She was no mage and while the elven apostate, Master Solas, seemed strangely calm about everything, she could not reflect that level of poise. So she managed on grace and tried to keep herself quiet so as not to betray her fear.

She opened her palm to the rift and hoped her will would do the rest.

 

The others watched the rift pulse and then the human was slammed back into one of the remaining walls. Her body curled up and then went limp as she fell unconscious. Cassandra raced over to her, gently rolling the woman onto her back. 

“Is she alive?” Leliana asked.

“Yes, barely. We should get her back to Haven. Solas?”

The elf was gazing up at the rift. “It is no longer growing. She seems to have stopped that, at least.”

Cassandra scooped up the noble. “Get a horse, if we have one.” 

She carried the young lady back to the forward camp, maneuvering her carefully when they had to climb ladders. Cullen met them at the camp, where he took a turn carrying the woman. He mounted a horse, perching her carefully in front of him.

She didn’t wake up for four days. 

 

 

Josephine was very pleased with this Herald of Andraste. It would be a dream to sell her to the nobles. She had beautiful fire red hair, green eyes and fair skin. She was willowy and slender and graceful. From the report she read from Leliana, she had extensive knowledge about noble families and had attended school in Orlais for a time. Josephine could hardly believe her luck. 

And if her research into her siblings had any truth, they all appeared to have impeccable reputations. Her four siblings had all finished their schooling in Val Royeaux. Strangely, Amarina appeared to be the only one who had not. A curious decision from her parents, apparently. The reasoning for it had not been noted in her file from the finishing school she had attended. Though it had been around the start of the Fifth Blight—so that was likely the reason.

When she met the young lady, she was not disappointed. Though she had apparently just awakened after her ordeal at the Breach, she had cleaned herself up, arranged her hair in heavy coil of braid, pinned to her head and dressed in her clothes only after having scrubbed each piece down. She held herself straight-backed, seeming to unconsciously press her fingertips together like Orlesians did, while Cassandra introduced Josephine and Cullen. 

The young noble inclined her head to each of them politely. And she even kept calling Cassandra and Leliana, Lady Pentaghast and Lady Leliana. Cullen didn’t seem to know what to do when she referred to him as Lord Commander. And to Josephine herself, she was Lady Ambassador. 

When she left them, Leliana looked at the other three. “What do you think?”

Josephine smiled. “She will be a dream to sell to the nobles. The only problem is that she didn’t complete finishing school in Val Royeaux. I wonder why she left.”

“According to my notes, she may have had some scandalous dealings with an older man. But not all my agents have reported back.”

Cassandra and Cullen both rolled their eyes a little.

“I wonder if she has any skill at the Game.”

“She must? Or at least be acquainted with it, if she stayed for any length of time in Val Royeaux.”

“Okay, I’m going back to my recruits,” Cullen said, waving a little and walking out.

Cassandra grunted and followed him. 

Josephine scribbled down a few notes, still smiling. “I think she will be excellent—at least where the nobles are concerned. Did you see—she even cleaned up the armor we gave her to wear.”

“She couldn’t appear disheveled in front of us. That’s good. Attention to detail.” Leliana beamed.

“She seems….a little shy though?”

“Yes, I believe she enjoyed reading rather than combat.”

“This is going to be much easier than I thought!”

 

 

“All right, uh, Lady Trevelyan. You’re going to have to learn to defend yourself. Were you…given any combat training at all?” Cullen asked her carefully.

“Yes, Lord Commander, I was. I trained with a saber and dagger.”

“Are you proficient, my lady?”

She opened her mouth and then hesitated. “Well,” she said finally, “I…” And then she sighed. “I’m not sure, Lord Commander. I never took to it very well. However, given the circumstances, I am absolutely willing to continue learning.”

Cullen nodded a little. “I see. Then, I will pair you up with one of our instructors. Leliana indicated that you were, at one point, a dancer?”

“Yes, Lord Commander.” She brightened a little. “I excelled at Orlesian ballet and the school of Lord Stephano Felott—which was a style mostly reminiscent of the flamenco artform of Antiva.”

“Oh, well.” Cullen looked down at his notes and cleared his throat. “I….have to admit….um. I’m sorry, my lady—I don’t know what that means in regards to…which musculature groups you have strengthened via….dance.”

“Oh!” Her hand touched her chest. “I’m so sorry, Lord Commander. I didn’t think. I apologize, sincerely. Ballet focuses primarily on muscle control of the legs and abdominal area; the core, if you will. Flamenco is a little more, um, exuberant. But again, the focus is on muscle control—though it uses the whole body, it’s quicker and tends to be stylistic and sensual.”

Cullen floundered for a moment. “All right,” he managed. “Um. All right. So you’ve built up a lot of strength mostly in your…ahem…lower half. Uh—so I would like to have you try a few different kinds of weapons, if you are amiable, my lady. We can get you a one-sided blade, a saber or cutlass and daggers as well. But I would like to have you try a pole-arm because they require a great deal of abdominal control. As well as a bow, to build up the strength in your arms. Not that you don’t have it, um, my lady. But just as a…uh….uh. Precaution.”

“Of course, Lord Commander.”

Cullen chuckled a little. “Um, my lady, I have no title outside the Inquisition—you do not have to call me ‘Lord Commander’.”

Amarina smiled gently at him. “Oh, I was not aware. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, ser. It was only that, you have shown such chivalry and kindness through this entire ordeal, despite it being likely much harder on all of you than this is on me. However, of course, if it does bother you—I can switch to whatever you might prefer? Ser Rutherford, perhaps? Or Ser Cullen?”

“I’m not a knight any longer.”

“You should be, ser,” she said gently.

Cullen stared at her for a moment and then awkwardly scratched his hair. “Well, I—Ser Cullen will be just fine. Will suffice. My lady.”

“Of course, Ser Cullen,” she said politely, folding her hands over each other in her lap.

“Uh, good then. I will make the arrangements today and you can begin tomorrow, if you like?”

“I would love to. Thank you so much for your assistance. You have shown such integrity and fortitude. You have my utmost respect, Ser Cullen.”

“I. Well. Thank you. Or, I mean. You’re welcome. Well—that’s all I needed. So if you’ve other matters to attend, please feel free to take your leave.”

“Ah, yes, Ser. I was advised to seek out the blacksmith, Master Harritt.” She stood up from her chair in the makeshift war room. Cullen stood up as well. She inclined her head to Cullen in a respectful nod. “Until tomorrow, Ser Cullen.” And she turned and left the room.

Cullen took a deep breath and sunk into his chair again. He rubbed his temple until the door opened and Leliana and Josephine came through. 

“Commander,” Leliana said, smirking. “I heard you had a meeting with Lady Herald.”

Cullen sighed, blinking at the table. “I…I’m not sure I’m the right person to be dealing with her.”

“You’re the commander. Surely she didn’t disrespect you?” Josephine inquired, sitting down across from him.

“No, not at all. She’s just very….I can’t tell what she’s thinking. It’s all….odd.”

“She would make a good bard if we could get her to pick up a weapon.”

“Well, that’s accomplished at least. I’m setting her up with Master Alma and Master Harker tomorrow morning to begin seeing what her strengths would lend to her. She must learn to defend herself competently.”

“Did she tell you she was a dancer?” Leliana asked.

“She’s a dancer too?!” Josephine’s eyes lit up. “Wait—what styles?”

“Uh,” Cullen looked through his notes. “She told me she was….that she excelled in…Orlesian ballet?” He shrugged a little. “And she also studied with…Stepheno Felott—who was…some kind of flamco Antiva—“

“Flamenco,” Josephine corrected. “She studied with _Stepheno Felott?_ And she studied Orlesian ballet. Ah! I have letters to write.” Josephine beamed as she headed out eagerly.

“I think she’s the most excited out of anyone,” Leliana said, sitting in the seat Josephine had abandoned. “Does something trouble you about her? The Herald, I mean?”

Cullen shrugged a little. “She’s just…she’s just so carefully composed. It’s sort of creepy.”

Leliana laughed. “I rather get the feeling that she was aware of the Game but didn’t play. So she learned to school her expressions but did not necessarily understand the ebb and flow of power in words. Which is for the best really when one is surrounded by players and wants simply to get by unnoticed. She doesn’t seem to have the ruthlessness the Game requires.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Cullen said. “I just don’t know what to do with her. I admit, I was sort of expecting someone like you or Cassandra. Not Josephine.”

“Oh, but Josie is so excited.”

Cullen paged through his notes again. “What _is_ Flamenco?”

Leliana laughed again. 

 

 

Master Elizabetha Alma was one of the finest pike commanders Ferelden had to offer. Master Harker was an Antivan swordsman. He professed to be the first Fire Sword and champion duelist of Antiva City. 

He bowed to her over his arm. “My lady Herald. They tell me you have studied under Stephano Felott? Impressive. So you have respect for Antivan art.”

She dipped a small curtsy. “I am humbled to say, Master Harker, that I did indeed study under Stephano Felott. Maker guide his steps.”

“I knew him, a phenomenal man. His style is very compatible with Antivan Fire Dancing. So we shall begin there. Show me your saber.”

She unsheathed it. It was a beautifully curved blade. “It was my elder brother’s sword.”

“Superb craftsmanship,” said Harker, running fingers through his wavy dark hair. “Did your elder brother study Antivan swordsmanship?”

“No, he did not. He was primarily Marcher-taught. Though he was very skilled.” She glanced down at it a little, touching the leather-wrapped hilt.

“Was?”

“Oh, I apologize, Master Harker. He was at the Conclave.”

He saw her eyes become far away as she retreated, pulling up the mask of poise instead. 

“I see. I’m sorry for your loss, My Lady. Let us get started.” He brought out two wooden practice blades.

She took it. Her hold was shaky but her stance was solid. Antivan Fire Dancing was about speed, pinpoint accuracy and precision strikes to vital spots. One always kept on their toes, like a flickering flame. And he was right, her study of dance lent her an advantage to balance and strength.

She still didn’t really enjoy being sweaty and grimy but there _was_ a certain satisfaction after a hard day’s work. As she felt when learning to ride horses Ferelden-style or a successful memorization and performance of Duchess Pearl Cartier’s notoriously difficult _Magnifique Jardin D'hiver_ (which had taken her two weeks of intense study to master on the harpsichord).

She was covered in bruises and sweat after the day’s lesson and she had to go see Master Alma immediately after. She was Ferelden through and through and got right down to business. The woman sniffed at her a little but kept her opinions quiet, to which Amarina was grateful. She still felt frazzled inside and keeping up the composed mask was starting to become difficult.

By the time she was released, it was nearly night. She staggered back to her little room, shutting the door behind her. She put down her brother’s sword and sat down on the bed. She took a deep, shuddering breath and glanced up. The window allowed her an unhindered view of the Breach. 

She bowed her head and, as quietly as possible, sobbed.

 

 

Master Tethras was a delight. He was very funny and when she told him that she had read _Hard in Hightown_ , he offered to sign them on the spot as soon as she got new copies (she’d brought hers to the Conclave, so they were dust now). 

“Thank you so much, Master Tethras. I don’t mean to be a bother. I know you must get all kinds of attention when you might simply wish to be left alone.”

“Eh, I don’t mind, Firefly.”

“Firefly? Is that the nickname you’ve chosen for me?”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course, Master Tethras. I take it as a compliment that you’ve given me one. All of your friends in _A Tale of the Champion_ had one.”

Varric laughed. “Now _that_ is a standard that I like.”

“You are utterly charming, Master Tethras. Ladies must stand no chance against you.”

“My heart was won by only one. And when one has won, one is done.”

“Ah, is that the mysterious Bianca?”

Varric grinned and winked. “Could be. Who knows?”

 

 

The kindly Master Tethras, intense Lady Pentaghast and scholarly Master Solas all accompanied her to Val Royeaux. Cassandra continued her training on the road. Cassandra was more like Master Alma, brute power. Every night, Amarina found herself bruised and battered. Every morning, she woke exhausted. Though she couldn’t be sure if that was the training or just the events at the Conclave weighing on her. She’d started dreaming of her eldest brother, Ethan. He’d been the only one who hadn’t disparaged her when she’d had to leave Val Royeaux. He was broad-shouldered and handsome, on his way to becoming a full chevalier. His was the death that truly hurt. 

But if she might learn to wield his sword properly, perhaps she might continue on in his memory. So when she was hurting from training, she tried to remember him. 

At their camp, she slipped off into the dark to a small stream. She sat by the river, cleaning up. She found herself rocking back and forth quietly. The movement was somehow soothing. 

A soft crunch of wet leaves heralded Solas’ approach. It was still nearly silent from his bare feet but she got the feeling he had made a sound on purpose. She looked up at him and stood. “Master Solas,” she greeted. 

He inclined his noble head to her. “Varric asked me to check on you. Are you all right?”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry, Master Solas. I was merely taking a few moments to myself.”

“I apologize for disturbing you, Lady Trevelyan.”

“It is no matter. You are welcome company, Master Solas.”

“Did you know many elves before now?”

“My family employed a few and a few of my instructors were elves. They have an ear for music that I could only dream of having. They are so graceful and fast, yet—their lithe forms belie their strength.”

“It’s not often I hear human nobles express admiration for elves.”

“Yes, my mother and father disapproved of…how I treated our elven servants. But when I went to Val Royeaux, one of them came with me. She was a true friend while I was there.”

“Did you participate in their Great Game?”

“I learned of it and I…attempted to study it. I know the theoretical steps but I never truly excelled, I don’t think. I was young and there were other distractions, as one might find in such a city. The royal capital was…a dream for me at first. So much art and history and their libraries were the biggest I’d ever seen.”

Solas smiled a little. “Yet, you say ‘at first’. Did that end?”

“Rather abruptly, I’m afraid, Master Solas. My father called me back to Ostwick after we had word that a Blight was starting in southern Ferelden.”

“You must have been sad to leave.”

The tiniest flicker went through her eyes. It wasn’t even half a second. That Solas saw it at all was only because of the full moon and her lantern. 

But whatever it was, nothing in her expression changed and she merely nodded. “Indeed. But—it was for the best.”

He peered at her and she clearly felt it because he saw how her eyes seemed to empty of all emotion. She was still smiling gently but all the emotion was gone. It was like looking at a statue. He nodded politely. “I’m sorry for your loss. I heard that your parents and your eldest brother perished at the Conclave.”

“Yes, they did. A great loss—my eldest brother was truly a good man. Now my elder sister will take over the family. Josephine has contacted her, I believe.”

“Do you believe she will assist us?”

“I cannot be sure, in all honesty, Master Solas. She was rather headstrong and preferred to travel instead of deal in politics. She may pass it on to one of my remaining two brothers. She’s very fierce. Admirable in some ways, and very difficult in others.”

“But…you’re her sister.”

“We’ve not always gotten along,” Amarina said, a little more delicately. “Well, perhaps we might return to the others?” She turned away from him, picking up her cloak and sword to head back to the fire. 

Solas watched her as she walked away. He could sense a faint trembling through her. She was holding onto her continued composure by a thread. Speaking of her siblings seemed to make the trembling more pronounced, settling slowly as she walked back to the camp. 

She volunteered to take the first watch. She wasn’t much use in a fight just yet—but she could at least, allow her companions to get some real rest. She would do what she could.

So she sat by the fire, looking around every few moments from her book. It was called _The Foxglove and the Manor of Bold Horses_ , a mystery story about a thief living a double life in Halamshiral. Eventually, she found she could no longer focus on it. Before, she had loved such stories but now…it just seemed grey and pointless. Still, she respectfully marked her page and put it in her bag. Perhaps in Val Royeaux she could find some books about astronomy. That might be useful for mapmaking or finding direction in the dark? 

She glanced up as a slight creak of leather. Varric got up, pulling some tobacco and a pipe from his satchel. He wandered over to the fire. “You were supposed to wake me an hour ago, Firefly.”

“I’m afraid I’m…not very good at perceiving time of night, Master Tethras. I don’t know how fast the moon moves by the hour. And you all have been doing so much, I thought you could use some extra rest.”

“You’ll learn,” Varric said, kindly. “Now that those two are asleep….I’ve been meaning to ask: how are you holding up?”

Her throat closed up and the trembling inside of her intensified again. She looked at the fire, struggling to get it under control. Such a simple question, asked with sincerity—was that truly all it took to have the seams of her control ready to unravel? “I…”

Varric lit his pipe, watching her carefully. He watched her swallow very hard.

She glanced at him, seeing how he was still observing her. “I’m sorry. I’m…a bit…” She swallowed a rough breath. “I’m not…myself.” Her eyes were welling up and she looked away, stubbornly attempting to keep her mask. 

“Firefly, you’ve been through a lot.”

She took a sharp breath, feeling it crack and break apart. She fought back a dry sob and swiftly covered her mouth and nose with her hand. 

“It’s all right, Firefly.” Varric gently touched her shoulder.

Amarina bowed her head, shaking with effort to keep her hitched sobs silent.  
-  
-  
-  
-


	2. The Lone Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiled up at Solas. “All right. We should drop off the books first though. I wouldn’t want them to be hurt.”
> 
> “To be hurt?” Solas chuckled a little. “Your respect for books does you credit, Lady Trevelyan.”
> 
> “Books have always been good friends,” she said softly as she and Solas walked together. She had the urge to ask him, suddenly, if his head was cold but she did not quite dare. Perhaps he would like a hat? He seemed very kind and while his features were angular and rather severe, there was also an undeniably noble look to him. Like he ought to wear a crown and robes of dark silver instead of ragged coats and threadbare clothes.  
> \-----------------------

When the Templar punched the Revered Mother, Amarina breathed in sharply. She hurried forward, standing between the Templars and the Mother. “How _dare_ you, ser! You call yourself a knight! A Templar even! Is that what Templars do? Assault defenseless women!”

“You’ll be next if you don’t shut your gaping mouth,” one of the Templars snarled.

“You’ll find I’m far from a scared old woman, ser!”

“I would advise you not to threaten Lady Trevelyan,” Cassandra said, eyes flickering dangerously and doing a quick mental count of the Templars.

But the Lord Seeker hardly seemed interested in their words. He stalked away with a dramatic flare. Amarina knelt to the Mother. “Revered Mother? Are you all right? I’m so sorry.”

But the Mother was obstinate, at least at first, finally succumbing to despair. Afterwards, Amarina had to take a moment. Cassandra led them down a small sidestreet, where the young noble leaned against a wall. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I did not mean to jump ahead of you. I forgot to think.”

Cassandra peered closely at her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course, Lady Pentaghast.”

Cassandra and Solas exchanged a look over her head. “Perhaps we should rest here for the night.”

Amarina nodded a little. “All right. I can show us to a nice inn, if you like.”

“Ah yes, you lived here for a time, did you not?” Solas asked.

“I did, yes. For nearly four years I attended school here.”

“Will you be recognized?” Cassandra asked her.

Amarina looked thoughtful as she stood up straight. “Hopefully, not.” She headed out of the Summer Bazaar and into the city proper, leading them to a beautiful white marble building with letters covered in gold leaf that read _Rose and Lion_. “My mother and father always stayed here when they visited the city.”

“Did they visit you often during your schooling?” Cassandra inquired.

“Typically, they were here for business purposes, Lady Pentaghast,” Amarina told them as a footman opened the door to her. She paid for the rooms herself. All interior rooms with views of the magnificent gardens that were planted in the middle of an open area in the center of the inn. 

She went quietly, leaving the other three to their own devices. A bath was being prepared when she entered, a lovely maid spreading rose essence in a steaming porcelain tub. She thanked her and gave her a gold coin in thanks and requested dinner for herself and for her three companions in their rooms. 

The bath felt nice. She unbound her long red hair and washed it. They hadn’t even done much walking today and she still felt exhausted. The strain of keeping her composure was taking its toll. 

Such memories being here recalled, when she was seventeen, almost ten years ago, infatuated with a young Orlesian military officer that had ended her stay in Val Royeaux. And now, her eldest brother was dead. And she was…some sort of prophet? Madness.

The world was madness. 

She headed to the shops afterwards, finding Solas also looking extensively at books. She picked out two about astronomy and survival tactics. She tucked them under her arm and headed back outside. The sun was setting, casting golden glows and purple shards of light into the city. She walked down to the docks, where little boats bobbed on their tethers and birds called out to each other. 

She had painted down here a few times. She’d once come to a magnificent sunset, much like this one, as a ship docked. It had been packed with soldiers returning from the Dales....

 

 

 

Amarina flitted down to the docks in a yellow summer dress. Her red hair was pinned in vibrant curls and her feet adorned with simple but fashionable yellow slippers. She had a large canvas tucked under her arm.

“My lady!”

She turned. “Letheen? What are you doing here?”

Her elven servant hurried up to her, carrying a box. “You forgot your brushes, Lady Amarina.”

“Oh! I did. I’m so sorry. Thank you so much, Letheen. I need a shoulder bag for them, I think.”

“And perhaps a smock? Your mother would throw a fit if she knew you were traipsing about the capital in your summer dress to paint.”

“You won’t tell her, will you?”

Letheen smiled at her. “I saw nothing, my lady. Now, let me carry these to your spot. Where are you painting today?”

“The docks—one of the professors said that a ship was coming in. I would love to catch it as the sun sets.” 

“Be careful, my lady. The docks are not well-suited to polite people. Sailors can be a rough sort.”

“I know…” she smiled a little to herself. “But…they are so….real, I guess.”

“Real?” asked Letheen.

“Yes…it’s…it’s all so real. Sometimes, I feel like…everything around me is happening to someone else. Like a dream. But they all seem more real than I do.” 

“You read far too many books, Lady Amarina.”

Amarina laughed. “You read too few, Letheen. It’s the only thing I insisted on bringing from Ostwick. I don’t think you’ve read a single story!”

“What do you recommend, my lady?” Letheen smiled, unfolding Amarina’s easel to set it up. 

“Master Tethras writes wonderful stories, as well as Ser Juliard Tasvernback’s—“

“The man who writes those tales about the Witches!”

“Yes! They’re interesting.”

“Yes, I’m sure they are. Count yourself lucky you’re not a mage.”

“Sometimes, I wish I was….”

Letheen sighed, shaking her head. “Your head is in the clouds. However do you remember all your work at the school? Be sure to come back after sunset. If you’re still gone when the moon rises, I’ll call the guard to find you, again.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, Letheen. Go have a cup of wine. Isn't that handsome elven player in the square tonight?”

"My lady!" Letheen pretended to be scandalized, giggling.

When the servant left, Amarina gazed around the lively docks and she began sculpting out the surrounding area. The boardwalks and planks, the calling gulls and dockworkers, crab traps and bundles of fish for the market and then a horn blew as one of the Empress’ flagships came into the harbor. Its sails were billowing and magnificent. They were snow-white, now tinted as the sun cast its red and golden beams over it. 

She studied the dignified ship and began to put it to canvas. Sometimes, it almost seemed like she could anticipate where all the lines and touches should go. Like she were merely uncovering the white of the canvas to reveal the picture of what lay beyond. 

Shouts called out and a handsome officer swung down from a rigging line to the pier. What an invigorating image! She beamed with delight to put the lines in place. She saw him perfectly in her head. His had dark hair, pulled back in a tail and tied with ribbon. He was dressed in a smart Captain’s uniform, a shining sword glinting in the gold and purple hues of sunset. His men called something to him and he sang out a hearty laugh. He was perfect. It would bring the whole piece to life, to light it up with his laughing eyes. 

But instead of going back to her brush, she watched the officer, seeming unable to help following him with her eyes. He spoke with the Portmaster, gave the man a coin and a clap on the shoulder. And then he was heading up the boardwalk. 

Oh! Oh! He was coming her way. She hurriedly looked back to her canvas, painting an outline of him sailing through the air on the rigging line. She couldn’t help but glance up when she heard his steps on the boardwalk. Her breath caught in her throat.

He was looking right at her. He smiled. He was rather dashing up close. His face had a rough bit of stubble, like a shadow. 

“My lady, are you here all alone to watch the ships come in?”

For a second, she didn’t know what to say. Many of the noble young men in Val Royeaux did not speak to her much because she did not wear a mask. And then she rallied herself. “Yes, my lord. Have you just returned from the south?”

“The Dales,” he said, sauntering closer. “You’re a painter?”

“I…well, I try, my lord.”

“May I take a look, lovely lady?”

She laughed a little, feeling her cheeks burn up. “Y-yes, of course. I was hurrying, hoping to get the ship at sunset when I heard it was due to dock.”

The man came to her side. He smelled like leather, like pipe tobacco and seasalt. He blinked. “Is that me?”

“I—when you swung down—I thought it was a wonderful image. It—encapsulates everything people feel when they think about sailing.”

He looked down at her, sidelong. “How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen, my lord.”

He turned to face her fully. “Your accent isn’t Orlesian and you aren’t wearing a mask. Where are you from?”

“I am from the Free Marches, my lord.”

“Really!” he said, looking delighted. “I am as well. I don’t meet many Marchers here in Val Royeaux. I’m from Markham.”

“Oh,” she said brightly. “I’m from Ostwick. You’re in the Orlesian military, even though you’re from Markham?”

“An unusual case, mine,” he said, voice rumbling out of his chest with a smile. “But they seem to like me enough to have made me a captain.”

“I wondered, my lord. I’m afraid I’ve not been able to see many of the infantry uniforms up close.”

Something about his smile changed. She wasn’t quite sure what it was—but it seemed different. “Well, should you like to get a closer look—I could stay a while? If it please you, Lady….?” 

“Trevelyan, um, Amarina Trevelyan, my lord. If you would like—I—I would enjoy some company. I’m sure you have…many wonderful stories, Captain.”

“Thom,” he said, eyes turning warm and gently taking her hand in his own to brush his mouth against her knuckles. “Captain Thom Rainier, at your service, my lady.”

 

 

 

That was when an arrow slammed into a bench next to her. She jumped, taking several steps back and looking around. She shook herself. This was no time to get lost in memory. She’d been dizzy with nerves back then and he’d seemed so dashing and kind….and then…

“Lady Trevelyan?” Solas asked. He must have just exited the bookshop. 

“Be careful, Master Solas…someone shot an arrow above us somewhere.” She pointed to the bench. “I was standing next to that bench and it hit there.”

The mage touched his staff and approached the bench, eyes scanning around the docks while Lady Trevelyan clutched at their books. “There seems to be a message on it.” 

She approached slowly as Solas freed the arrow and uncoiled a small roll of paper to read. “What does it say, Master Solas?”

“It seems someone would like us to find them. Shall we, Herald?”

She smiled up at Solas. “All right. We should drop off the books first though. I wouldn’t want them to be hurt.”

“To be hurt?” Solas chuckled a little. “Your respect for books does you credit.”

“Books have always been good friends,” she said softly as she and Solas walked together. She had the urge to ask him, suddenly, if his head was cold but she did not quite dare. Perhaps, he would like a hat? He seemed very kind and while his features were angular and rather severe, there was also an undeniably noble look to him. Like he ought to wear a crown and robes of dark silver instead of ragged coats and threadbare clothes. 

Still, it would be rude to say so. 

At the inn, they met Master Tethras and Lady Pentaghast and Solas showed them the message while she took the books upstairs to put them safely in her quarters.

Two other messages later and they found themselves in a courtyard. It was very quiet. Cassandra gently urged her behind them. “Stay back a moment, Lady Trevelyan.” The Seeker glanced down at the dwarf. “Varric,” she murmured.

The dwarf seemed to understand. He wrapped the Fade around him and slipped around the corner. 

Cassandra glanced at Solas and nodded to him.

The mage Stepped out, flashing across the courtyard. At the same moment, Varric appeared, stabbing two knives into the back of a man. Cassandra dashed out to assist them. 

Amarina backed up against the ivy covered wall, watching a dozen men flood into the courtyard. The flurry of movement from the three fighters was amazing. She was impressed each time as they just seemed to…dance. To move seamlessly around each other. Amazing. 

“There she is! The Inquisition’s Herald!”

Amarina locked eyes with one of the men. His fellow hefted a crossbow. She dodged over to the opposite wall near the entrance and pulled out her dagger. Her hands went cold. There was a yell and then one of them appeared around the corner. He grabbed her by the throat. She shoved at him—and then a sword vaulted up through his chest. He gurgled and fell to the ground.

“Are you all right?” Cassandra demanded.

“Y-yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Lady Pentaghast.”

“You will learn. Come. Let’s end this.”

It was an archer that took out the noble who’d tried to kill her. But it wasn’t Varric. It was another elf, unmarked and carrying a longbow. She rattled off a confusing mess of nonsense. 

Amarina waited until she finished to say, “Excuse me, miss, but you could have gotten my friends killed. Stop rambling and tell me what you want this _instant."_

The elf huffed at her and starting talking again. Another spew of vague half-statements and non-answers until Amarina cut her off again.

“Have you ever heard: _Brevity is the soul of wit_ , young lady?”

“What? Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you know what that means? It means: _don’t waste my time_. Your name. Say it.”

“One—no two—it’s like—“

“Your _name_ , young lady.”

“Sera.”

“Thank you. Now, what do you want?”

“I want to join you! The Inquisition!”

“Wonderful. Wonderful. Thank you, Sera. Yes, come to Haven.” She took a deep breath. “I apologize for losing my temper, Miss Sera. Next time, come out sooner and explain yourself plainly. We might have killed you otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Uh. I guess. Whatever?”

Amarina turned around to look at Cassandra. “Are you all….all right?”

“We’re fine, my lady. Let’s return to the inn.”

 

 

 

As soon as they returned to Haven, it was back to planning for the others and back to lessons for her. From morning until night, she worked and worked. 

“Lady Trevelyan?”

She barely heard the voice, everything on the war room table was quite fuzzy.

“Lady Trevelyan?”

She jumped a little. “I’m so sorry. I—I…was distracted. I apologize.”

Leliana and Cassandra exchanged a look with Cullen and Josephine.

“Are you well, my lady?” asked Leliana. 

“Of course. I apologize. I am merely. Merely tired. I’m so sorry, Ser Cullen. I did not mean to be inattentive.”

“Why don’t we take a break for the rest of the day?” Cullen suggested. “If you’re this exhausted, you should rest.”

“I—I’m so sorry.”

“Do not worry, my lady. The board will still be here tomorrow,” Josephine said kindly.

“Let me escort you to your quarters,” Cullen said, standing up from his chair and heading around the table.

She looked down, embarrassed and somewhat ashamed. “Thank you,” she said softly, standing up and gingerly pulling her right hand to her side. 

Cullen walked quietly beside her for a moment before he said, “You seem to be favoring your right hand.”

She looked at her hand and then up at him. “I’m sorry—I did not mean to be obvious. It’s simply bruised.”

Cullen stopped her in Haven’s entryway. “Show me.”

“It’s nothing, Ser Cullen. It was just during practice this morning.”

But he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, clearly indicating he was willing to wait until she relented. So finally, she unwrapped a band of cloth she’d cinched around it. His eyes bulged a little. “When did this happen?”

“Just during practice with Master Alma. Every bruise is a lesson. I need to be quicker, I know.”

“No.....” Cullen reached out and gently took her hand. “This is not simply bruised. Your first finger is broken.” He gently turned her hand over to examine it. “Why didn’t you tell anyone, my lady?”

“I…I just….I know I need to be better, Ser Cullen. I…I don’t want to be a bother to anyone.”

Cullen huffed. “This needs proper tending. Do you know anything about tending to wounds?”

“Not much. Just the basics.”

“We’ll add it to your studies. Come. We’ll speak with Solas.” He returned her hand and strode towards the apothecary, where he rapped smartly on Solas' door to heal her hand. “The difference between bad bruising and a break is usually the swelling, Lady Trevelyan.” Solas appeared, looking a little bemused to suddenly find the Inquisition's commander at his door, but when he saw the Herald's hand, of course he let them in immediately.

“I thought to…give it time. I didn’t want to…bother anyone for nothing. I need to be better. Faster…”

“You won’t be either if you don’t take care of yourself,” Cullen said quietly. “I’ll have a word with Master Alma on ensuring—“

“No!" And then she flinched back from her own raised a voice, putting a hand over her mouth. "I mean…no, please. Don’t do that, Ser Cullen. It’s—“

“You need to learn, yes. But not at the expense of your overall health, my lady. Now. Solas, if you could?”

The mage healed her hand by the hearth as Cullen crossed his arms, watching her. Her red hair flickered with gold in the fire light. Solas slid his long, spindly fingers over the snapped finger and then enveloped her hand in both of his. His palms were large and calloused and cooler to the touch than Amarina would have expected. Leliana tapped the open door to Solas’ quarters and entered. “Is the Herald in her—oh, there she is.”

Amarina looked over. “Sister Nightingale. What can I do for you?”

“A moment, when you’re done here.”

Solas smoothed his fingers over her hand. “There you are. Be sure to come by if you’re injured.”

“Thank you, Master Solas. You are truly invaluable. I am sorry again to have troubled you both.” She stepped back, dropping a nod to him and to Cullen before going with Leliana. 

The spymaster had a spot marked on her maps already. She needed her to head out into the Hinterlands and find a lone Grey Warden there called Blackwall.

 

 

 

Amarina pointed across the lake. “That must be him—the Warden that Giles was going on and on about.”

“Let us speak to him, then,” Cassandra nodded and strode down to the lake. They circled it, crossing into the shallows. 

“So, Firefly,” Varric said, slogging out of the water. “You said you lived in Orlais, right?”

“Yes, for nearly four years.”

“How old were you?”

“I was thirteen when I was sent away. My parents insisted, _insisted_ , Master Tethras. I liked the Free Marches—though I find some things about Orlais to be wonderful. Very beautiful country.”

“Were they able to teach you anything about tactics?” Cassandra inquired.

“Among other things. I…wasn’t always very good at it--especially the politics,” Amarina admitted. “But…they said I must learn to lead. So they had to take me away from all my hiding places and put me somewhere where people would make me…stand out, I suppose, Lady Pentaghast.”

“I could not wait to leave when my uncle tried to trap me in such a life,” Cassandra commiserated. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Amarina said with a shy little smile at Cassandra. “Women are offered some freedoms but there are many restrictions from those who would rather us simply be on their arm rather than at their side.”

The Warden was large and burly, speaking sternly to a small group of scared-looking men who were holding axes uncertainly. Amarina took a shallow breath and raised her chin, adopting a look Cassandra often saw on Josephine when she was about to deal with someone difficult.

“Excuse me, ser? Are you Warden Blackwall?”

The Warden barked a command to the conscripts and then turned around. “How do you know my name? Who sent you—?“ He froze.

Suddenly, all the color drained from Amarina’s face. Cassandra looked between the two of them. “Lady Trevelyan?”

“Thom?” She whispered.

The Warden’s face went grey—

“Watch out!” Varric shouted.

The Warden automatically threw up his shield, stopping an arrow in its track. “Stand back!” He commanded the Herald and he whirled around to help the scared men fight. 

Amarina drew her sword but she didn't move forward. Her brain felt thick and stupid, reeling. Surely, it couldn't be. It _couldn't_ be. Cassandra stayed at her side, fighting off anyone who got too close. When they were dead, the Warden dismissed the conscripts and an awkward silence ballooned over them.

Cassandra looked between the Warden and the Herald again. “We are looking for Warden Blackwall. Is that you?”

The Warden looked at Amarina, then at Cassandra. “I…”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Amarina asked him softly. A rush of dizziness hit her and she clutched the hilt of her brother's sword. 

“Herald…do you know this man?” Cassandra asked.

“I….yes. We….we were acquainted in Val Royeaux." She swallowed hard. "Thom….you _can’t_ be the Warden we’re looking for.”

The man looked aside. “I was….another man, then, Amarina.”

“You _disappeared_ in the middle of the night without a word. And now…you’re a Warden calling himself Blackwall?”

The man took a step back from them. “I’ve left that life.”

“You left that life, but it didn’t leave you.”

“Who is he?” Cassandra asked.

“Captain Thom Rainier of the Orlesian military.”

“Please, Amarina, don’t—“

“They said you did terrible things, Thom. Were they true? Is that why you ran away?”

Varric's eyes narrowed, he exchanged a suspicious glance with Solas and the two of them shifted their weapons.

Thom Rainier took another step back and shook his head. “You had no reason to want to keep me around. I had to go. They would have killed me.”

“They killed all your men, Thom. They hung them up in the Summer Market like beasts in a butcher’s window! Do you _know_ what they did to my servant? To Letheen? They thought I _knew!_ Do you even remember her?”

“I do…” he said quietly, looking aside.

“What did he _do?"_ Cassandra demanded.

Amarina was pale as a sun-bleached skull, hands clutched into fists. “They said he…they said he butchered Lord Vincent Callier and his whole family. His wife, the servants, the retainers…even the children, Thom….”

Cassandra drew her sword. “We come for a Warden and find a criminal. Put down your weapon,” she commanded the man. Behind her, Solas and Varric shifted, sliding into combat positions again.

Thom Rainier glanced at the distance to his horse, eyeing the Seeker, the mage and the dwarf before looking back to Amarina. “Is this what you’ll do? Use your title to buy some thugs to force me to justice. You’re hardly better than me.”

Her eyes widened. “How _dare_ you, ser! I was too young then to understand that you were manipulating me but I’ve learned a little since then. Don’t you _dare_ say something like that to me again.”

“I’m a Warden now. A man’s sins are forgiven when he becomes a Warden.”

“How very convenient for you, _ser,"_ Amarina said, eyes burning bright and fists trembling. “If Leliana did not need you, I would let Lady Pentaghast kill you now. How _dare_ you become a Grey Warden when you _murdered_ those children and left all your men to die traitors' deaths!” She whirled around, heading for her horse.

“Amarina--!” Rainier froze again, Cassandra’s naked blade touched his throat. He scowled at her and leaned back. “Amarina!” he called instead. “I never meant for you to be hurt! Amarina!”

“You are too familiar, _ser,"_ she said coldly and snapped her reigns. 

Cassandra kept her blade up, eyes on the Warden. “Solas, take your horse and follow her to ensure she gets to Haven safely. Varric and I will escort this one.”  
-  
-  
-


	3. O Captain, My Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Thom was waving down another servant to accept a second glass of wine. He drank it quickly. “Shall we dance?”
> 
> “Oh, I—of course.” Amarina followed him down to the ballroom floor as the next dance began. She whirled in her flame-colored gown. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” she said and curtsied.

“Unfortunately, he is correct,” Josephine said quietly. “He is a Warden. Wardens are beyond the reach of any law. However, I have been in touch with authorities in Val Royeaux and they’ve agreed to allow us to keep him in our custody until further notice. They are also looking into the murder of Lady Trevelyan’s servant and the deaths of Captain Rainier’s men.”

Cullen scowled a little, eyeing the Warden. “We can’t possibly be expected to trust this one.”

“If there are darkspawn, that could mean Blight. Blight means you need Wardens. My crimes were absolved when I joined the Order,” Rainier said.

“Then you’ll keep to yourself,” Cullen said darkly. “Stay away from my recruits.”

Rainier threw a dismissive look in Cullen’s direction and looked back at Cassandra. “And you, then, Seeker? Can I have my hands back?”

“As you are the only Warden that anyone can find, you will stay. But if you try to run, Rainier—I’ll take both your hands.” Cassandra got up, reluctantly cutting the ropes tying his wrists together.

 

 

Amarina did not see him for nearly three days. She stayed in her quarters except to go to her lessons. She seemed to be finally getting the hang of Harker’s duelist style of fighting. He told her he intended to move to live steel soon. So she went to Master Harritt to inquire after a suitable blade. She still carried her brother’s sword but she wore it to become accustomed to the weight. She did not draw it. 

“My lady?”

Her shoulders stiffened and a prickle of ice went up her spine before she turned around. She lifted her chin. “Warden Rainier,” she said, stiffly.

“Would you please talk to me?”

She gazed at him, swallowing hard again. “We are speaking right now, Rainier. What do you want?”

“Amarina—I never meant—“

“You forget yourself, Warden. You will refer to me as Lady Trevelyan.”

He recoiled a little and took a breath. “Lady Trevelyan, I never meant for Letheen to be hurt.”

“She wasn’t hurt, Warden. Whoever those thugs were—they sawed through her ears and then killed her. When I returned home that day, my apartments were strewn with blood and _pieces_ of her. My _one_ friend,” her voice choked a little. 

“Orlais is dangerous, Val Royeaux is the heart of the Game. You knew that I was involved with Lord Chapuis.”

She couldn’t keep the scoff from her voice. “You weren’t _involved_ with him. You were his lackey. You were sworn to serve Empress Celene and you murdered one of her allies in cold blood. And for what, Rainier? What did Lord Chapuis offer you?”

“I made mistakes. But as a Warden—“

She raised a hand, looking away from him. “Please just…leave me alone.” 

“You called me your Captain once.”

“Don’t do this,” she said softly. 

“Amarina,” he murmured and reached out to touch her cheek. 

She flinched back from him, taking a step away and bumping into one of the work tables. Her hand scrambled at the top of it blindly until it curled around a craft hammer. She raised it between them. 

“There a problem, Herald?” Harritt suddenly asked. He had a huge hammer in one hand and he was eyeing Rainier. 

“Doesn’t concern you, smith. Mind your business,” Rainier said sharply.

“Don’t speak to him like that,” she managed, voice still choked. “Harritt is a good man. He—“

“I want to talk to _you_. Just—come with me. Walk with me.”

“No,” she said, staring at the floor and shaking her head.

Behind Blackwall, Harritt glanced to one of his runners and nodded. The boy was off like a shot, sprinting towards the drill area. One of the other apprentices drew back to Harritt’s side, picking up a set of heavy tongs.

“How can we be here together and you refuse to even speak to me?”

“It’s very easy, sir and yet, it eludes you,” she said sharply. “A gentleman _knows_ when he’s been refused.”

“You never wanted me a gentleman.”

She stiffened. “I was seventeen then. I didn’t know what I wanted. I was stupid. A stupid little girl.”

“Do you remember the Officers’ Masquerade?”

“Thom, don’t…just don’t….”

“I remember,” he said softly, reaching out and touching her shoulder. “You were the only bit of good back then. I held you and—“

A hand clamped down on Rainier’s shoulder and the man was suddenly jerked away from the Herald. Rainier half-drew his sword as he stumbled to right himself.

“What are you doing?” Cullen asked him flatly, glaring at him.

“No business of yours,” Rainier said. 

“I believe it is, Rainier. Did she not tell you to leave her alone?”

“I want to speak to her.”

“Then you can wait until she’s ready. But until then, get back to your quarters, Warden.”

Rainier looked Cullen up and down, sizing him up. His blue eyes met Cullen’s burning amber ones and for a moment the two men stood toe-to-toe. Like lion facing a bear.

Rainier’s eyes dropped first and he whirled around to stalk off. Cullen watched the man until he disappeared into a small building. The commander glanced at Harritt and nodded to him before approaching the Herald. Her shoulders were curled in, eyes moving like frantic little birds.

“My lady?” Cullen asked gently.

Amarina glanced up at him, twitching. “I’m…I’m sorry, Commander…” The word faded off as she folded inward. 

Cullen gently took the craft hammer from her shaking hands and laid it down on the bench. “Come with me to the Chantry, Lady Herald?”

She nodded silently. Her hands were still shaking but she tucked them into her cloak to try to hide them. Cullen palmed the hilt of his sword, walking next to her. He took her to the war room and had tea brought for her. 

She sipped and then smiled faintly. “Chamomile…I’ve always liked chamomile.”

“My mother used to tell me that chamomile was made to sooth nerves.”

She glanced up at Cullen, meeting his warm eyes. “Your mother was clever.”

“A minor alchemist and with four children, she had to be rather clever.”

“Is she….still alive?”

“Yes—my family moved to South Reach after the Blight.”

She looked back down at the mug, thumb tracing the warm wood of the tankard. “I…do not wish to cause a problem between myself and Warden Rainier. I know we need him for now. I will do what I can to keep my distance.”

“I can have you shadowed, Lady Trevelyan.”

“No, that should not be necessary. I will deal with him—I did not expect him to…attempt to speak to me like he did. I’ll be prepared next time.”

“You were very close?”

“Yes. And, I suppose, now it should be obvious why I really had to leave Val Royeaux. After my servant was murdered…it was no longer safe for me.”

The door opened and Cassandra and Leliana entered, standing across the table. Cassandra crossed her arms and scowled while Cullen related Harritt’s runner coming to him.

Leliana said down across from Amarina. “How did your family react when they learned that Captain Rainier had betrayed the Empress?”

She scoffed softly to herself. “….they were not certain that I didn’t know. I was…I enjoyed painting and stories and…they thought my faculties were in the clouds, silly and trivial. The only one who believed me was my eldest brother, Ethan.” She swallowed hard.

“He was the one at the Conclave?” Cassandra asked quietly.

“Yes. The assumptions make sense, I suppose, from all the rest of my family. I was stupid—am stupid. Too much daydreaming and books and stories…but I just hoped that…it would be different. They were my _family_ \--I…but it was silly to think that…they would excuse my stupidity.” She looked at the table. “They said I should have known. That if I could have learned how to play the Game properly instead of learning dance and logic and…my father told me that I’d stained us with such a connection to a traitor. Even though we were from the Free Marches—they were hoping that, since my sister was so headstrong and uncooperative, that I would be the one to get them into Orlais through a noble marriage. And I destroyed any possibility because of my connection to Rainier.” 

“That’s hardly your fault,” Cullen huffed, crossing his arms.

“Unfortunately, that is often how reputation travels among noble families,” Josephine said quietly. “You would never be able to marry in Val Royeaux as your parents wished you to.”

“I thought I’d never want to,” Amarina admitted. “But that changed when I met Captain Rainier. My parents were thrilled that an Orlesian Captain, well-respected and on his way to titles and lands, would show an interest in me. He treated me…like a lady. He was a wonderful dancer, well-read, an accomplished warrior and strategist and he was Orlesian in every way but blood. He could have been a lord by now. But Lord Chapuis offered him…something. Whatever it was, it was enough for him to take his men and slaughter a caravan of civilians. There were four children among them. Rainier’s men didn’t know they would be attacking civilians but even when they drug the children from the carriage…it didn’t stop them…” she placed a palm over her mouth. 

“I remember when that happened,” Leliana said quietly. “They beheaded the children and put all the heads in a sack, along with Lord Callier and his wife. They butchered everyone else, brutalized the women, looted the caravan and then left them for the crows. His men, the ones who returned with Rainier, they were caught after Duke Gaspard disavowed their actions and Lord Chapuis killed himself. His men were hung as traitors. But Captain Rainier ran.”

Amarina shuddered and Cullen awkwardly pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to her. She breathed into it, struggling to get her composure. The handkerchief smelled like oil and grit, like sawdust, like hard work and a faint hint of pipe tobacco and woodsmoke and underneath all that was a spicy musk. She closed her eyes and breathed it in. That helped. Something about the scent was soothing. 

“I am not comfortable with you not having a bodyguard,” Cassandra said, scowling.

“I don’t want to be a bother. I’m so sorry,” Amarina said, hands clutched into Cullen’s handkerchief. “I was surprised. I will have my composure should it happen again. Please do not trouble anyone on my account.”

“Is Master Harker nearly ready to switch to live steel?” Cassandra inquired.

“Yes. I went to Master Harritt to arrange a suitable practice blade. I don’t want to use my brother’s until I can….use it properly.”

“Then instead of practicing near some of the refugee camps—you’ll practice near the drill area. I doubt Rainier would dare bother you there,” Cullen said, almost sternly. 

She nodded quietly. “My thanks, Ser Cullen.”

“Perhaps you should rest now, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine suggested.

“I will do so. Thank you, Lady Ambassador.” She stood.

Cullen stood as well. “I’ll escort you back, my lady.”

She seemed rather small standing next to Cullen when they turned as one and left together. He prowled beside her. She took two or three dainty steps for every one of his strides. At her quarters, she turned to him. “Thank you, again, Ser Cullen.” She offered his kerchief back.

Cullen looked at it, then at her eyes, green like spring grass. “Keep it,” he heard himself say. “It’s a small thing but…” He glanced aside awkwardly.

He didn’t see her blink. “Oh, I…thank you, Ser.” She dipped a shallow curtsey and went inside. 

When she went to her bed, she laid down, hiding herself under the covers. She was emotionally exhausted as she kept the handkerchief bundled in her fingers near her nose, breathing in the soothing scent of it.

She dreamed of the masquerade.

 

 

Amarina flitted into her apartments, practically dancing inside, twirling on her toes.

Letheen, who was dusting the piano, came around it curiously. “My lady? Are you all right?”

“I’m wonderful! Letheen! You should have seen him! He swung off the ship like a gallant hero from a story! And he spoke to me so kindly! I was afraid it was a rouse so I didn’t say anything. That was almost two weeks ago. Tonight, he walked me back from my lessons at Lord Felott’s and he asked me to attend the Officers’ Masquerade!”

Letheen’s mouth dropped. “You’re joking!”

“No! I can’t believe it!”

“That’s one of the most well-respected events of the season. The Empress herself may attend! As well as Grand Duke Gaspard! When is this masquerade?”

“A month from today, Letheen. Do we have time?”

Letheen squeezed her hands. “We’ll make time, my lady!”

And they did. Letheen sent a letter to Lord and Lady Trevelyan, detailing this development, and inquired after three seamstresses in Val Royeaux's textile market. 

The Officers’ Masquerade took place every Kingsway, at the onset of autumn. Trees were beginning to turn gold and red and the balmy air was perfect for a splendid ball. Most ladies would have been having new dresses made nearly six months in advance. Amarina had no such time.

She selected a shimmering golden silk, sparkling in candlelight and a darker gold, glimmering lace. It would be less extravagant than the other nobles but it would be elegant. A burnt gold-red brocade would accent the bodice and underskirt, embroidered with dark gold leaves. Her slippers buckled with rubies and were padded heavily inside for comfort and to ward off blisters. Her elbow-length gloves, made of dark gold satin, fitted without a wrinkle. 

The night of the masquerade, Letheen twisted her fire-red hair into looping curls and twists. The affixed them with golden pins and two ornamental gold-leaf enameled leaves that Amarina had carefully made herself. 

As she wasn’t Orlesian, it wasn’t appropriate for her to wear a mask. After all, the masks often were used to portray heraldry of Orlesian houses. So Letheen aided her in painting on a sparkling swirl of red and gold and glittering smoke around her eyes. 

“Your parents are very excited,” Letheen told her, helping her stand.

Amarina chuckled a little. “I just hope I don’t trip or embarrass myself. I didn’t quite realize how big this event is. I can’t hope to match the noble ladies of Orlais.”

“You are the epitome of a turning autumn leaf, my lady. A masquerade is just another kind of battle. As a dress and paints are just another armor.”

“Armor?”

Letheen smiled. “You can’t cry with make up on. It will run. You can’t panic or be flustered—else you might tear your dress. You must keep composed, in control, and no one can see you cry.”

Amarina smiled at her. “Thank you, Letheen…you know…you…I wasn’t sad to leave Ostwick, to get away from my family. But I was happy that you were sent with me. You are…my friend.”

The two women clasped hands. 

And then the bell rang.

Letheen beamed. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered hurriedly. “Just remember Lady Aveline, the first female Chevalier. Or Lady Indigo of the Spice Islands from that story about the shipwreck.” She whirled around and went to the door to greet Captain Rainier.

He was resplendent in gold and blue. His uniform was crisp and starched. He bowed to Letheen. “Is my lady ready?”

Amarina tried not to twist her fingers together. It was a nervous habit and she couldn’t help it as she gauged Thom’s reaction to her.

He was quiet for almost ten seconds and then said, “My lady, you look extraordinary.” He bowed to her.

“You are so dashing, Thom,” she returned and curtsied before taking his offered arm. 

Letheen gave her an encouraging grin and watched Captain Rainier escort her lady to a carriage. 

 

 

It was Amarina’s first ball. The whole palace was alight with candles and players, painters and wines, servants and food and sparkling golden lions. Everyone glittered.

“Are you nervous?” Thom asked her. He’d shaved clean for the ball.

“I want to paint everyone,” she answered, all eyes as she gazed around.

His chuckle was low and warm. “This is your first time here?”

“Yes. Did you come here as a lieutenant?”

“I did—before I was sent to the Dales, I came to one. And now I’m here for this one. With a much lovelier lady on my arm.”

“Flatterer,” she said, smiling but looking flushed and pleased as the orchestra began a waltz. 

“Look, there’s the Empress.”

She was gliding down to the ballroom floor in a searing red dress, embroidered with lions. Her mask was gold as well. 

“She’s lovely,” Amarina said. “It must be very hard, being empress. So many…expectations.”

“She must be quite a woman,” Thom agreed, accepting a cup of wine from a servant and passing it to Amarina.

“Thank you. Ha, my heart is in my throat. I’m so nervous that I’m underdressed. I don’t want to make you look badly.”

“You never could,” Thom told her and squeezed her hand. He downed his own glass quickly and then led her towards the balcony. “Still, you’ll want to be careful. The Game is played, even here.”

She sighed a little. “That’s one thing about Orlais I don’t like. It’s a beautiful place but I’m so tired of this Game.”

“Sometimes it has benefits.”

She tittered. “Do you play, Ser?”

He laughed. “Maybe occasionally. I did become a captain rather quickly.”

Amarina blinked at him, tilting her head. “What do you—?“

But Thom was waving down another servant to accept a second glass of wine. He drank it quickly. “Shall we dance?”

“Oh, I—of course.” Amarina followed him down to the ballroom floor as the next dance began. She whirled in her flame-colored gown. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” she said and curtsied.

Thom took her hand in his, the other went to her waist and he pulled her close to him. It was the first time it had been socially acceptable for them to be so near. It was intoxicating, heady and it completely wiped away any questions Amarina had about his dealings in the Game.

The steps played out. 

Lord Robert Chapuis watched them. 

 

 

When Amarina’s eyes opened in Haven, she curiously examined that last detail. She hadn’t known Lord Chapuis was watching them that night. Was that just a part of the dream? Or was that real? She had no idea, after all, when Lord Chapuis and Thom had met and begun working together. Surely he couldn’t have approached Captain Rainier at random without knowing whether or not the man would cooperate. 

It would make sense that they…they must have had dealings before the murder of Lord Callier.

For some reason, that had never really occurred to her before. It made her feel a bit sick to her stomach but she forced herself out of bed. She must go practice. 

She arrived to the drill area early and Harker got them started. The practice blade was real steel, though blunted. She wore trousers and thick gloves, a set of gauntlets and a light chestpiece. It was enough to protect her from serious wounds but definitely not from bruises and gashes. 

She could feel Ser Cullen watching them. 

Harker didn’t seem to mind Cullen, though he commented on Rainier. “That bear-like man, the Warden—he is watching you.”

Amarina nearly glanced away—and Harker struck her fingers. “Ah!”

“I say he is watching, not that you should look. He wants you to look, to see him. He troubles you?”

Amarina stepped back and nodded a bit. “Yes, Master Harker. He does.”

“Good.”

She blinked at him. “Good?”

“A troubled mind is distracted. It is good to learn when troubled. After all, in a fight, you will hardly be _un_ troubled, yes?”

“Yes, but—“

“There is no exception,” Harker cut her off. “One who is untroubled by causing death, is one who should never be in command of it.”

“I just…want to protect myself. I don’t….I don’t want to kill anyone…”

“But you will,” Harker told her solemnly. “You will have to.” He struck like a snake.

She dodged back, the edge of his blade slashing through her gauntlet, up her arm in a slender line. It began to bead with red. 

“We switch to live steel now, Lady Herald. No longer do we flail with wooden toys. You must learn and too quickly. That is unfortunate. But now I must begin to train as though you will be in a real fight. Else all this will be useless.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you ready?”

Amarina took a deep, fortifying breath. “No, Master Harker. But I will try anyway.”

He shrugged at her. “A brave woman is not unafraid. A brave woman is afraid but acts anyway. But a fool tells her enemy that she is afraid.” 

If she’d considered Harker talented before, it was nothing compared to now. He was a blur. She barely had time to react, could hardly follow him as he moved around her at all times. He tripped her, flipped her off her feet when she planted her roots too firmly, disarmed her easily, slashed her forehead and made blood drip into her eye. 

Her distress bled through, her anger at Rainier, her disappointment in herself, the terror of the Breach—it made her unfocused, too wild, and too panicked. And he stepped into her easily and cuffed her. The young noble fell onto her back.

“In a fight, you would die now,” Harker said. “You must leave your other selves when you fight. You must become your most aware. That man and the pitiful way he hurt you—not important when a sword is at your neck, yes?”

She looked down at his shining, blunted saber, the tip pricking against her throat. And then looked up at him. “I….pitiful—but he…it’s because of him that my—“

“That your servant, Letheen, was killed? Because he was a coward who ran. He is not worth your consideration. He told you lies, did he not? You are angry because you cared about him. But whatever rewards the Orlesian dogs offered, clearly meant more than you. Your pain is wasted on one like him.”

She got up from the dirt, slowly. “….I…..thank you. I think I….I needed to hear that.”

“I am the first Fire Sword of Antiva City—and there is much more to be lost in life than one love. Now. Are you ready?” He raised his eyebrows.

Amarina nodded. She felt solid, more grounded this time, focusing in on him. “Yes, Master Harker.” She raised her blade. “Please attack me as if you mean to kill me.”

This time, Master Harker smiled a little and nodded to her.


	4. Live Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Cullen and the Herald being awkward  
> \----
> 
> “You lack experience—but you’re not vindictive, my lady.”
> 
> Her fingers netted together. “Does the intent really matter if the outcome is the same?”
> 
> Cullen blinked, it took him a moment to wrestle with that. “Perhaps not, but you want to be better.”

She gazed at the war room table. All these little figures and statues representing soldier movements and operations. There were several things all going on at the same time. She rubbed her temples. Her mother and father never put much stock in her ability as a strategist. Her eldest brother and sister had received the brunt of that training. Her sister taught her other two brothers and herself, when she could be smoked out of hiding. She liked reading, painting—she wanted nothing to do with combat. And as she was the youngest, no one was too interested in forcing the issue. The odds of her ever having to lead the family were slim.

How privileged she’d been. 

It sickened her a little now, seeing how she’d been left to her own devices only because she was of noble birth while those with far less who wanted far more, would be forced to do things they didn’t want to. She’d complained about her family’s lack of interest in her but…others would have been grateful for her life. 

She’d defined her years in Val Royeaux by what had happened with Captain Rainier. Yes, she missed Letheen. Letheen had been her friend. But had she ever sat back are really _considered_ who Letheen had been _before_ becoming a servant to her family? What was it like to grow up as an elf? Had she resented Amarina’s ignorance of true suffering? 

That idea bothered her. 

That she had thought herself worldly because she read so many books, because she’d studied in Orlais, because she’d been hurt in Val Royeaux and her friend killed. But the truth was that she’d never known anything at all.

She sat down slowly in a chair next to the table. It felt hard to breathe, suddenly. Everything was compressing to a hard, cold ball of pain in her belly. “How could I have been so stupid? So ignorant?” She murmured to the map. 

Had she even wondered what kind of life Solas had been forced to live before this? Considered odd even by outcasted Dalish clans, unaccepted by his own people and always having to watch his back because he was a mage. 

Amarina reached up, pulling her hair out of its elegant knot and letting it hang around her shoulders and face. Her hair was soft, evenly cut and clean. It was a brilliant dark red and the candles made it flicker with gold. She had always been able to have clean hair. Had Sera always had that privilege? Did Cassandra? 

She’d lost Letheen. But Varric had lost many friends in Kirkwall. Not to mention, his brother. She must have seemed spoiled and silly to one who had suffered so much and yet he still managed to smile for everyone else. 

She’d been able to mostly ignore the mage-templar conflict because it had not really affected her. Going to the Conclave was an inconvenience. It took her away from her books, her horse, her self-pity. Amarina looked at the bandages at on her hands and her right arm, where Harker had slashed her. They hadn’t bled that badly but she’d wrapped it anyway. 

What if these bandages could have been used for someone with real wounds? What if it could have saved someone? But she’d asked for them and received them because she was the Herald of Andraste. She’d been so blinded by her own privilege. 

“What a fool, I was,” she said softly. “Still am. A fool.” She grabbed into the bandages and began to unwind them. The slashes on her arm and hands were scabbed heavily. She stood up.

The young noble made her way out of the war room and walked over to Mother Giselle. The graceful woman inclined her head to her. 

Amarina offered the bandages out to her. “I’m sorry, Mother Giselle,” she said softly. 

“For what, my lady?” Mother Giselle asked her gently in return.

“I…I didn’t really need these.” She couldn’t meet the Revered Mother’s eyes. “I thought I did. But…I didn’t. I…”

“The signs of your work—they bled, did they not?”

“Yes. But…I was in no danger of dying. I….thought it’s what I was supposed to do, I guess. And because I’m this Herald…they gave them to me freely. While others suffered.”

Mother Giselle reached out and gently touched her jaw, raising her eyes to her own. “You meant no harm, my lady. But I will take them back and we will use them for those who are injured. You are seeing the world with new eyes now. It is painful and distressing.”

“Mother, how do I…” Amarina looked down again. “…change what I've always know…”

“Like Andraste, we all must find our own paths. Perhaps faith will guide you, my lady.”

“I never asked,” she blurted out. “I…I never asked my servant, Letheen, what her life was like before she joined my family. It never… _occurred_ to me to ask. How…how… _awful_ I must have seemed to her. And yet, she _died_ because of me.”

“You could not have known and you did not strike the blade, my lady. It sounds like you cared about her and I have no doubt that she knew it. We cannot always help how we are raised, some of us are blinded by privilege, yes. But I would rather you blinded by privilege than be blind to the plight of others. You see it now, what life is like outside of the protection of your social class. How precious it is. And now, like Andraste, you can rise to that challenge.”

Amarina wiped her eyes with Cullen’s handkerchief. “But….how?” she asked, unable to mask the way her voice choked. “How do I make it up to her? She's gone….”

“You have already taken the first steps.”

Amarina looked down into the handkerchief again. _I have to be stronger._ She reached down almost absently, gripping the hilt of her brother’s saber. She swallowed hard and looked at Mother Giselle. “Thank you, Revered Mother.”

And with that, she turned away, striding out to her quarters. She changed from her green brocade day dress into the leather body armor that Harritt had made for her and then braided her hair and pinned it out of the way. 

She must turn her shame into action. Words and tears were meaningless without action. How many stories had she read with exactly that idea! Her practice blade in hand, she strode down to the drill area by the lake. It was mostly deserted at this time of day. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the frozen lake and snowy ground. 

So she and her shadow stood solitary in front of the practice dummies. She stared at their blank faces. Her shame made her feel tired, like she would rather go hide under her covers and sleep through this feeling. She shook it off as best she could, trying to will away the heaviness in her limbs. She lifted her practice sword.

The sun glinted off the thick, blunted edge. She admired it for a moment. She’d never noticed how it reflected light before now. There was a severe sort of beauty to it, like ice. That’s what she had to be. Like ice. 

She struck like a snake.

 

 

She kept it up until the moon rose to give her light. And by then, she was crying—but not still. She struck every time her breath hitched so that it would not be meaningless. By the time Cullen appeared, her strikes were weak and faint, clearly exhausted, and the dampness had frozen to her cheeks. 

He came out of the gates and started silently before hurrying over. “Lady Trevelyan?”

Amarina heaved in a shuddering breath before she looked at Cullen. “Ser Cullen,” she said, voice slightly choked. 

“Are you all right?”

“I…I….” she looked at him in the moonlight and then closed her mouth, not sure what to say. 

He approached slowly. “My lady, Seeker Pentaghast said you’ve been out here for several hours.” He gently touched her shoulder. “Are you….all right?”

“I…only…” she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I want to be better. I….” 

Cullen gently took her practice sword from her hand. “Come with me, Lady Trevelyan.” Cullen did not quite touch the small of her back but urged her to walk with him to a large tent just outside Haven’s gate. He closed the flaps of it, winding a leather throng to keep the snow and wind out. The tent was full of materials, weapons, uniforms and supplies and behind all that, in the very back, was one lonely cot. He gently had her sit on it while he rebuilt the fire in front of it. 

Her hands were slashed and bruised but she didn’t appear to notice. She had a numb expression on her face. 

“My lady?” he tried again, kneeling by the fire and looking up into her face.

It took her several moments to seem to register the words and she finally shifted, moving her eyes to him. “Ser Cullen?”

“What happened?” he asked gently.

Her eyes went down but she took a deep breath, seeming to come back to herself. “…I just realized today how…how awful I am. I thought I was worldly because I read books, because I studied in Orlais. But I don’t know anything. I never knew anything. I called Letheen my friend but I don’t even know if she had siblings. Family. Anything.” Amarina’s voice was quiet, almost monotone. “I…I hid in my books and in protocol because it was easier than admitting how shameful it was that I didn’t really…know her at all. Or anyone else. I’ve seen real suffering here. I used up bandages because I thought I…needed to. I was cut. So they must be bandaged. But that’s not true. Not when someone else needs them more.”

“You lack experience—but you’re not vindictive, my lady.”

Her fingers netted together. “Does the intent really matter if the outcome is the same?”

Cullen blinked, it took him a moment to wrestle with that. “Perhaps not, but you want to be better.”

“Yes,” she echoed softly. “I want to be better. I’ll be stronger, different. I’ll…do things right.” Her eyes raised a little, meeting his. “I’m sorry, Ser Cullen. I will do everything I can to correct my mistakes. I won’t make the same ones again…I won’t…” her voice cracked a little.

Cullen got up, sitting beside her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself just yet. We’ve all done things we regret. You’ve already changed so much. Master Harker has told me how you improve. You’ll get there but don’t push too fast or you’ll set yourself up for failure.”

She nodded a little, looking down at her fingers. 

“You should rest,” he said softly. “Go on. Lay down.”

She did a slight double-take, glancing up at him. “….here?”

“Yes,” he said and got up. “No harm will come to you. I’ll keep watch. Rest.” He sat across the fire at a small writing desk, putting his sword next to him in easy reach. Cullen pulled a bundle of reports to him. 

Amarina sunk down a little awkwardly at first but his cot was warm from the fire and it smelled like him. She curled up in it and was out within a minute, her physical and emotional exhaustion were almost tangible.

Cullen covered her in quilts and his cloak before settling into his chair to finish his reports. Her left hand sparked and glowed faintly in the dim light. 

 

 

 

“Is she still in there?” Rainier demanded.

Cullen crossed his arms, lifting his eyebrows. “She’s asleep.”

Rainier examined him a moment, gritting his teeth. “Did you sleep with her?”

Cullen started, choking. _"What?!"_

“She spent the night in there with you.”

Cullen stared at him, stunned. _"No!_ She was exhausted and I was working. So she went to sleep and I worked through the night.” He scowled at Rainier. “Is that all you think of? Who she might be sleeping with? What does it matter to you?”

“I made her miserable. I got her servant killed. It’s my fault she had to leave Val Royeaux. So I should have a hand in keeping her safe.”

Cullen lifted an eyebrow again. “She’s an adult now. When she is up, if she wants to speak with you, she’ll come find you. Now, go. Go do something constructive.”

Rainier growled at him. “Were I still a Captain—“

“But you’re not,” Cullen cut him off. “And even if you were, you’re not in command here. I am. And you've already betrayed one leader, I don't mean to see you betray another.”

The two of them stared at each other, one of Cullen’s runners standing awkwardly by and ready to spring back if the two men drew their swords. 

“Have you ever seen a real war, boy? Have you ever faced down demons and darkspawn or did your pretty face get you by well enough?”

Cullen’s eyes twitched. His grip tightened just a hair on the pommel of his sword. He felt his runner step back from them. Cullen took a step forward, watching how Rainier shifted his grip. “I don’t need to posture, Rainier. I know what I’m capable of. And if your misplaced jealousy is going to make you _this_ possessive of Lady Trevelyan, then I’ll lock you in a cell under the Chantry and leave you there until we need you.”

“You’d have a hard time getting me there, boy.”

Cullen snorted. “Did you fight templars often in the Dales? Or was it just defenseless civilians?” 

Rainier’s hackles rose—

And then the flap to Cullen’s tent opened and Amarina stepped out into the snow. She stopped short in front of the two men. “Good morning,” she said politely. And then she hurried by them, her practice sword in her fist. 

“Lady Trevelyan--!” Rainier called after her.

She turned, walking backwards as she said, “I’m so sorry, Warden Rainier—I’m late for practice. Perhaps we can speak later.” And then she turned around again to scamper down to the lake.

Cullen fought an amused snort. But it was a bit difficult. Rainier scowled at him before whirling around to stomp off. The commander caught sight of Cassandra watching from near the practice dummies. She raised her eyebrows. _Problem?_

Cullen half-shrugged. _No, not really._

She nodded a little and turned around to examine the last dummy, which looked as though someone had beaten it to death. 

Cullen headed into the supply tent, going back to his cot. She hadn’t left anything behind except a scrap of cream-colored fabric. He picked it up curiously. The edges were embroidered and each corner had a tiny lion head painstakingly stitched into it. What a strange thing to leave behind. The placement, carefully folded and left on his pillow, seemed deliberate. Was it because he’d given her his handkerchief? It had only been a scrap of muslin, hardly even a rag. This looked expensive. 

But…it was rather soft. A little awkwardly, he lifted the kerchief to his nose. It smelled like…lilacs. 

He snorted to himself and cleared his throat. She must have simply misplaced it. Forgotten it. He would return it when she finished with practice.

 

 

 

Amarina floated. She spun flawlessly, balance perfected from years of ballet instruction. As it turned out, it was doing her a ton of favors in learning to use the saber and how to defend from attacks. Harker knew this, of course, but did not say anything of it, watching her over the following month to see how she might react to very little praise. She said nothing, which didn’t surprise him—she was a well-trained noble lady at heart. She professed no love for combat, and never was able to look into his eyes when they locked together. She was learning killstrokes like she’d learned dance steps. It wasn’t really that different. She could suppress that for now—pretending it was dance instead of a real weapon that she could use to kill people. It wouldn’t last, but it helped her focus for now.

She had responded well to the live steel. The sound that swords make when they dance together, even dulled as they were, was a strangely intoxicating one. It means metal, it means blood, it means heat and death is _so close--_

A terrible agony but raw in its intensity, immersing herself in the sound of the metal like she had likely learned to do in Lord Felott’s dance instruction (during a particularly fluid and heated performance of the _Dance of the Fire Witches_ by Teryna Lauran Stoutcoach, where Amarina had trained for weeks with lit torches and then performing it at the Imperial Variety, a month later. Her parents had been disappointed that she chose a Marcher piece to learn but Stephano adored it. Poor Lord Felott--his death had been so sudden). 

Dance and death had to meld together in order to protect itself. They blend to become one. 

Harker saw it immediately when she allowed herself to be immersed in the strikes instead of resisting it. She moved with instinct, still not meeting his eyes but staring off to some distant point beside him—yet she moved in a blur. Suddenly a perfect spin and he felt her practice blade slam into his from the side. Sparks scratched down the blades as they locked and then again—she moved in a blur. He saw a shift—like trees in a haze—registered a hand and barely jerked back in time to save his eye. 

“Incredible…” he murmured. “You see it?”

“No,” Amarina said, quiet, very calm. “I _feel_ it, like red vipers on white stone. Like the bloodsoaked ropes we found near the mines. I used to close my eyes when I danced and I could…feel the colors. They didn’t always have the right shape but…they were the colors that I…..had. That I felt about things. I thought of things as colors.”

“Helpful for a duelist—detrimental to a blind woman.”

“So I should be blinded?”

Harker paused and lifted his eyebrows at her. “What?”

“I mean…I should do that. If I depend too much on my eyes…then what good is anything else if I ever lost my eyes?”

Harker tilted his head, peering at her. “All right, Herald. Come.” He went to the supply tent and brought back a thick strap of heavy black cotton. “This will be very difficult, Lady Herald. We do not have to go this fast.”

She looked into his eyes and then down at the cloth. She nodded. “Please, Master Harker.”

He blinded her. “We’re going to the lake,” he told her and then walked away.

Interesting. When she stopped concentrating on _trying_ to see, her other units of sensory all checked in. Fish, ice, water, snow. The crunch of feet and shouts from the drill area. She breathed it all in, almost faint with it—until she stepped. Her boot sunk five inches lower in the snow. She slipped immediately down the little hill, flopping onto the ice.

“Ah…” she shuddered, hands gingerly pressed into the raw ice as she got herself to stand. The ice was worse. Vibrations could almost be nonexistent. The flat of Harker’s blade slammed into the back of her thigh, forcing a surprised cry out of her. She staggered to the ice and her boots flew out from under her. She felt the snap as the flat of the blade slammed into her collarbone. She scrambled back on the ice, digging her hands into the burning cold and shoving herself backwards. He slowed a moment to let her stand and then circled her. She took a deep breath and he felt her steady out. He knelt and threw her practice sword. It clattered onto the ice. Harker watched her head jerk, ears out for that clang and the direction it came from. She took…not a stout or heavy step. Both light and tense but solid. A _stern_ step, as if to exert her will over the fear of slipping. She walked carefully, but quickly and nearly kicked the sword away when her boot touched it. She grabbed it by the blade—

She felt hot blood and cried out.

“You are so reckless when you grab the blade, Amarina.”

“You brought sharpened blades? But—but Master Harker—“

“Now you are committed. Let us continue.”

She gingerly found the hilt. It was sticky with blood. It was also weighted differently. She should have felt that the moment she touched it. The slashes on her hands ripped into the leather. There was a sharp _whap_ with the flat of his blade again, into her arm. She jumped back automatically, sliding half an inch before setting herself at an angle to him. Her sword was pointed at him. Harker dashed up to her, sliding right under her arm and slashing. That sent her crashing to her feet. Her nose made an unfortunate sound and cracked. Suddenly, her mouth was metallic and thick and sticky and it was hard to breath because all she could smell was the gush of her own _blood_ \--

She opened her mouth to let it escape. So maybe she wouldn’t feel so smothered. She was starting to feel dizzy. 

And then Harker was yanking off the blindfold. “My lady?” He grabbed her around the waist. “Lady Trevelyan!”

Amarina felt everything spin. Wasn’t there a song she should be hearing? The one about _He’s darkness, he’s drumming…the mist and fog is coming..._ or something like that. She should be suffocating, right? But that was all right. It was dark and her throat was slick and sticky and thick with her own blood, pooling in her stomach and making her stagger. Her legs gave out and her instructor grabbed her up in his arms. 

He hurried back across the lake to Cullen and he and the Seeker took him to Solas. 

 

 

 

She had to take a few days after that to heal. She was covered in welts, bruises and slashes. And she’d gone back the very next day. Harker refused to fight her but he did blindfold her again and made her walk around. 

Needless to say, Trevelyan was more relieved than she would admit when Lady Josephine sent for her rather than Ser Cullen or Sister Nightingale. 

She had in her pretty hand a letter from one Madame de Fer. Amarina raised her eyebrows at Josephine. “The First Enchanter to the Empress?”

“Yes—but if you know her reputation….”

“I do. She was active in Val Royeaux while I was there. I’ve never spoken with her—I wasn’t invited to parties like _those_ but I’ve seen her and I know her reputation. So that you’re bringing this to my attention means that you would like me to meet with her when you fully expect she will use us for something—but her aid will be worth more than whatever she wants to try to ring out of us?”

Josephine stared at her, looking starry-eyed. “Exactly.” She sighed a little bit. 

“What is it, Lady Josephine?”

Lady Montilyet pulled her dainty hands to her breast. “I know this place is a war camp but I _miss_ having a few university students around who were also acquainted with the Game.”

Amarina smiled a little, shaking her head. “Honestly, I wasn’t very good at it.”

“I wonder if you do not give yourself enough credit? I’m sure it will happen, should you wish it to,” Josephine said gently.

“My brother James had more of a knack for it than me. But I don’t have to with Madame de Fer. I know this part.”

“An Orlesian salon—“

“It’s difficult to traverse but so long as you remember that everyone is there just to make sure the others see them _being there_ instead of any _actual_ interest in whatever is actually going on. For example: Madame Thraxin d’Jean," she said, sounding aggravated. "She's—the Qunari woman, adopted and raised in Orlais? Do you know of her? She had a magnificent collection of rare gemstones and lyrium dust; as well as being very educated—and I wanted to meet her very much. She showed no savagery at all like the stories say. She was so very….noble. And her hair was a beautiful snowy white. I wanted to meet her very much—but nobles who didn’t care and just wanted to be seen drove the prices up and I wasn't able to secure a private meeting. They were all lavishing praise on her work before the exhibition but once there…when they saw how impressive she was…they….they just mocked her. She was so talented. Paintings I’d seen referenced in books by Madame Thraxin, with the defining use of metallic silver paint—they said a week before they were amazing but then? There. At the moment they saw a Qunari, they…balked.” Amarina looked at her hands. “I felt so ashamed because of how the other humans acted but…I didn’t step up and say anything either. I should have back then. But I was afraid. But. Regular noble things. I know those steps.” She furrowed her fingers. “I’m not sure why I just said all that. It seems I’m not quite myself. Please excuse me, Lady Ambassador.” 

Amarina hurried out of the room. 

 

 

 

Cullen knocked on her quarters the next morning. “You still look a bit rough,” he said, smiling gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Rather like a big bruise, Ser Cullen,” she allowed with a rueful smile as she stepped back to invite him in.

“Wow, he really got you…” Cullen cringed a little, seeing one of the raised welts on her throat. 

“I wanted him to be rough with me,” she said.

His brain suddenly was very insistent on informing him what _roughness_ with Amarina might involve. A tangle of red hair sticking to her skin, a helpless, wanting sound. Fingers lacing around her throat, feeling her racing heart. Cullen coughed into his fist. _Maker's Breath, where did that come from?_ “Yes—to. To. Continue your. Training.”

Amarina paused a moment. “.....yes.”

“Well—I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to discuss that. Well—I mean—I don’t mind. I don’t want you hurt, my lady. That I ask at all is merely from….ugh…” Cullen shook himself, cutting off his rambling sentence and looked at Amarina, who was staring at him blankly. “I’m…must still be tired. That didn’t make much sense, did it?”

“You do work a lot, Ser Cullen. You work so hard and want so much for everyone.”

Cullen rubbed his fingers through his hair and his fingers brushed the handkerchief he’d tucked into his beltloop. He brightened, remembering. “Oh! Its your—that’s what it was. My memory, I’m so sorry. You left your handkerchief behind in. My tent. When—you, uh, rested there a night.” He unfolded it to show her the embroidered lions.

She blinked. “Oh. I. It was—I ruined the one you gave me. It was so stained with blood that it’s ruined. So I left this one so you would not think I forgot.”

“You’re giving this to me? Did you _make_ this?”

She chuckled a little. “Some time ago, I’m afraid. I have others, newer ones. But you seem…like a lion to me.” Cullen did a double-take. She smiled a little shyly. “I hope you aren’t offended, Ser Cullen? I can certainly get you a replacement you might prefer—“

“No, no, I’m…I’m not. Offended. At all. I—I appreciate the thought. It’s…well…thank you.” He looked down at the embroidery with her. “What about…the lilacs?” he asked softly, curiously, and a little uncertain if it was a good idea to continue this particular discussion and yet he couldn't seem to help it. 

“The lilacs?” she asked him quietly. 

He shifted closer to fully face her, one of his hands between them, holding up the handkerchief. “It smells like lilac flowers.”

“Oh!” She said, eyes bulging a little. “Oh my. I didn’t--um. I put dried lilac flowers among my clothes. I didn’t air it out like I should have though. I’m sorry—“

“No, my lady…it’s fine. You….you like it,” he said a little awkwardly, scratching his hair. 

Amarina glanced up at him, suddenly feeling…caught in that gaze. Something warm and burning starting in her abdomen and curling up tight inside of her. She swallowed it down. 

“I. Uh.” Cullen floundered. Something felt darker, hazier in his eyes. It seemed to help him settle, getting tunnel-vision. He gently touched her hand as he stepped closer to her--

She made a soft, barely-there sound--

And then someone pounded on the door. Cullen jerked back from her like she’d scorched him. He looked everywhere but at her. “I'm sorry—“

“Commander?” said one of their runners through the door. “Sister Leliana has sent a package to your office she’d like you to review, ser.”

Amarina just stared at him, flushed and shaking a little from his proximity. She wasn’t sure how he responded to the runner. She heard him apologize and he was quick to take the opportunity to leave. Trevelyan shut the door behind him, shuddering harder against the door. She hadn’t felt something like that in a long time. The sheer intensity ignited her. She was on fire at the thought of him pinning her against the wall—

“Inappropriate,” she told herself sternly. “You, stop.” Her abdomen twisted, flaring hot in her depths, a tremor she felt between her thighs. She bit back a sound and hurried towards her bed, closing the shutters and drapes. The firelight cast flickering shapes, licking the high ceilings, sliding its warm tongue into her shadows. 

Her hands were shaking. She opened her eyes, looking around as if to check that no one had snuck into the room with her. No—she was alone. She sat back against the headboard and pushed skirts up, sliding them up her thighs, arching into her own touch helplessly. She slid a shaking hand up her thigh, feeling the heat between them and pressing _just so_. In the swell of heat rolling up over her in waves, she found flesh, hot and slick. And she let herself relax a little. She was alone. No one could see her be ashamed. The tips of her fingers found the swollen, sensitive pearl of pleasure in her folds. She twisted under her fingers, massaging at that pearl. She could imagine it was _his_ hand instead of her own, more calloused, wider, harder, _rougher_ \--

She shuddered violently against her hand, shaking from head to foot and biting down on her gasping moan. 

She laid there for several minutes, feeling sweat bead off her forehead. That had been…a bit intense. She was still reeling from all this attention and change. It could have—

He had taken her hand, suddenly looking very much like he wanted to touch her. His expression had narrowed in, became more focused. Soldiers often had the feeling of restrained energy and aggression around them. And when she met his gaze, she _felt_ it.

She hadn't...not since Thom. She hadn't thought...

Her noble upbringing indicated she ought to be ashamed of such thoughts. But her family wasn’t here and he was _so warm_ and he smelled like _spice_ and _leather_. And no harm had been done. It was just an awkward moment. She saw her handkerchief with the lions on it. In his flustered retreat, he'd left it on her writing desk. She picked it up—it was wrinkled deeply from Cullen’s large grip. She put it to her nose.

It smelled like both of them.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing is cool. Nerdy work is never done. Sometimes I get too into writing something and I forget where the characters are. This was an example of that. Rereading it, it just felt...wrong. I mean, just--not right. Too abrupt.


	5. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amarina was shaking so much she could hardly see. She hadn’t even realized that she was sobbing. Her eyes were thick with tears, streaking down her face in rivulets through the blood. So much blood. She was soaked in it.
> 
> “Amarina!” Cassandra said, voice sounding foggy and faint.  
> \---------------------------

Amarina lifted her lantern, examining the walls before unconsciously straightening her spine. The basement cellars were a veritable maze under the mountain. It made for good areas to think. Pacing underneath Haven. Solas approached with one of his little…pretty lights. She followed it with her eyes.

“What’s it like to be a mage?” she asked him, a little abruptly but looking intensely curious. 

It didn’t appear to bother him. “It may be different for every mage, I can only speak for myself.”

“So I must ask what it’s like to be you?” she asked, more gently.

His shoulders stiffened just a hair as he walked beside her and looked sidelong at her. “I suppose, yes.”

“All right, Solas. You are an unmarked, elven mage—“

“Unmarked?” he asked, staff in his right hand throwing warm light around them.

“Oh, I mean—the facial tattoos. You don’t have them.”

“I’m not Dalish.”

“I imagine not, Master Solas.”

“And why is that Lady Herald?”

“If you were Dalish, you’d have tattoos.”

Solas looked at her sidelong again and chuckled. “I suppose you are right, Lady Trevelyan.”

Amarina looked at him as they walked. “Have you ever been to court, ser?”

“Me?” Solas pondered. “I would be hard-pressed to find a reason for me to be at court.”

“Then how do you know so much about it? The Fade?”

“I can see much in the Fade.”

“But wouldn’t you be limited by travel if your body was bound on the mortal plain? I mean…you would have to be close to where you entered?”

“That depends largely on the skill of the mage.”

“And what about yours then?”

“Do you have some passing interest in the Fade, Lady Trevelyan?”

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be a mage. It’s as though you could reach up and touch each tiny star and that feeling you have when you look up at the sky or over an endless sea and know how small you are, embracing the humility of physical form…..that strange feeling….like…enlightenment.”

“Well said, Herald. You should paint that.”

Amarina paused, a hitch in her step. “Paint what?”

“Enlightenment, Herald.”

She looked at him for a long, quiet moment. “Yes….” She looked at the stone. “Maybe I should…”

“What brings you down here?”

“Oh!” She perked, as if suddenly remembering and pulling the longbow from her shoulder. “Sister Leliana wishes for me to hunt for deepstalkers down here. She wants me to just use the bow. For practice.”

“Do you enjoy learning combat?” Solas asked her as the paths started to twist deeper. 

She thumbed her bowstring. “I don’t really know, I suppose. The actions aren’t so different from dance. But…I don’t enjoy it when you all have to kill people. I know I’ll probably have to.” She looked away into the dark.

“We will be there for you when you do, Herald.”

“I appreciate that, Master Solas.”

The elf smiled. It gentled the stern jut of his jaw. “You are always so careful—I appreciate politeness—but perhaps, if you wished, you could simply call me by my given name.”

She opened her mouth and hesitated. It turned into a cringing grin. “I’m…not sure I can.”

That made him laugh. 

“I will try to remember, Mas—Solas. Solas.” 

He smiled down at her. “How goes your other training?”

“Oh it’s…” she shrugged a little. “It’s…still ongoing.”

“A very diplomatic answer,” he told her, using his staff like a walking stick. He rather reminded her of her spry violin instructor. Sage and quiet, with a dry sense of humor and a twinkle in his eyes.

“What about you, Solas? You seem to be a very powerful mage. Where did you learn to use magic?”

“I am mostly self-taught, Amarina.”

“That’s incredible. Some sort of savant, were you?”

“Not so much as that. It took a great deal of time to learn what I know.”

“Can you….guide anyone in the Fade? Or….how does the Fade….work, exactly?”

“I could show you, Herald, if you wished?”

“I would like that, Solas.”

The elf nodded ahead of them. “There’s a deepstalker ahead.”

Amarina stopped in place to follow his gaze. She could see it now, rumbling about on its tiny legs. They were vicious little things and they would definitely attack her on sight. So…

She removed the bow from her shoulder. It actually was not so difficult to pull back on the string. She glanced a little awkwardly at Solas, who was simply watching. 

“Don’t pull too hard,” he advised. “The shaft will shatter if you do.”

It took four arrows before she managed to get the hang of actually firing with the bow. She still felt a bit guilty about killing the animals but…well, they would take skin for leather so at least it wouldn’t be wasteful. “Solas…do you trust Warden Rainier?”

“You ask me, Herald?”

“You seem…level-headed, Master Solas. Slow to anger, slow to assume, thoughtful, perhaps. So I suppose I desired your insight. Do you trust Warden Rainier?”

“No,” Solas said simply, shrugging a little. “But I believe him.”

Amarina looked sidelong at him. “How can you not trust him but believe him at the same time?”

“Herald, do you trust Sera to watch your back in a fight?”

Amarina considered barely a moment before nodding. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Would you trust Sera with a bag of your coin?”

“Ah,” Amarina replied, with something like a grimace. “I see what you mean.”

“I believe that he believes it when he says he wants to change. But everyone must learn that on their own.”

“Speaking of learning on their own,” Amarina said brightly. “You never did answer how you learned so much about court.”

He did the very slightest of double-takes. “You are correct. I did not.” He seemed to sigh to himself. “In the Fade, time can feel like an eternity or an instant. But in all the memories and dreams I’ve seen, court is almost always the same. Only the faces and fashions change. I wondered how you would act, being a noble woman and now the Herald of Andraste. If perhaps your natural affinity for control and leadership would take you to striking out with your new power or if you would hold back and observe.”

“Which did I do more of, Master Solas?”

“Neither, Amarina.” He smiled in that odd, gentle way of his. She’d seen a smile like that before but she couldn’t place it. Like a flavor one can’t quite remember. “You know you have much to learn. So you focus on that to distract yourself from the crushing reality that there is a great deal on your shoulders right now. And you have stepped into something you aren’t prepared for. But that is the price paid for glorious heroes.”

She laughed a little. “All I did was survive. You all have done all the fighting.”

“You can admit your strengths and weaknesses, Amarina. That is more than some and an excellent place to start.”

“I don’t know how to pick though—between the mages or the Templars—I am not sure even how to decide. I haven’t…I know they need a decision….and I feel like I need to make it. But…I don’t know who we should approach. I would say both but the advisers say we can’t. Cullen believes we should approach the Templars but…he used to be a Templar.”

“Do you no longer call him Lord Commander?”

Amarina started a little. “What? Who—oh, Cullen. Oh, well. He’s.” She shifted a little. “He’s been…helpful and very kind.” She felt Solas’ eyes on her and with a practiced breath, she turned her face back to the smiling statue. 

Solas’ eyes sharpened even further. She’d only gotten that from Leliana thus far—like he was looking right through her. Trying to _read_ her, just like she had been trying to read him. “He seems rather restless.”

“I’m afraid I could not attest to that, Master Solas. I’ve come to think of Cullen as my friend but it seems that among the Inquisition—friendship can take on strange forms. Like—he oversees my training and, I suppose, likely wards off Thom. And…with you, I attempt to shoot deepstalkers in very old tunnels.”

“Do you consider us friends?”

She looked sidelong at him. “…if you would permit, Solas. I know I’m human and I’m not a mage and so your interest would be minimal but I want to learn. I hope that might make up for my failings in other ways.”

Solas nodded thoughtfully to himself. “Then I suppose my suggestion would be to seek out the rebel mages. They are powerful but without protection, and in their desperation, they may turn to more radical ways to defend themselves.”

“So we should get control of them before they succumb to in-fighting and possibly cause an even bigger problem. And taking them into the Inquisition could help heal some of the ire caused by this catastrophe.”

Solas smiled a little, peering at her. “Yes. At its core, that is what would benefit us, as well as them.”

“And the Templars have hidden themselves away at Therinfal…but they have leadership, a castle and protection. They’re quiet for now, merely being obstinate. Unless, of course, there’s something else going on that we don’t know about,” she allowed, pausing at she sighted a deepstalker. “But, we have no information as to that.” She drew back on the string. “We know what the mages face—and if you’re fairly certain that it would take more power to seal the Breach…then I’m willing to believe that. You know far more about the Fade and about magic than any mage I ever met in Val Royeaux or in the Free Marches.” She loosed into the air, watching her arrow streak off into the dim light of the wall sconces. 

Solas watched her quietly as she walked forward to go collect the deepstalker. She came back with only the arrow, sighing to herself in disappointment.

“Shall we gather the others then and go to Redcliffe?”

She put the arrow back in its quiver. “Yes. I think so.” 

 

 

 

But first, she had to meet Madame de Fer. As she’d discussed with Josephine, Lady Iron had an intense reputation. But above all things, she valued poise, control and the appearance of competence, even if it wasn’t exactly there. 

So she took everyone with her to the Ghislain estate. Before entering, she made them stop at an inn, where she changed into a dark blue brocade longcoat, simple but elegant. It was dusted with shimmering crystal and embroidered with hair-thin lines of silver several inches apart. The neck swept into a V above her breasts and darker blue velvet accented the collar and the arrow-pointed cut of the bodice. It was meant to be worn over dress armor for formal ceremonies. For now, her regular gear would have to suffice—but the longcoat would, at least, make her presentable to someone of such rank.

She was useless in combat but here, here were steps that she knew. She felt it come over her almost unconsciously. Pressing her fingertips together to keep from fidgeting. Lightening the steps to a dainty stride. The neck and head move slowly, focusing attention on one speaker at a time, never showing shock or surprise unless it would be to the benefit of the present company. It meant flattery and niceties, things drilled into her from childhood. If her sister was going to be obstinate and rude, then she had to be polite and graceful. 

Of course, it hadn’t exactly turned out that way—she’d been far more timid, quieter. She did not have an agile enough mind to be an active player like her second brother, James. She preferred to observe and reflect before acting. In the heat of the moment, she became flustered and she’d learned to back off until she could think through the situation calmly. 

She shook out her hands a little when the First Enchanter appeared. She was exquisite in every way. Absolutely beautiful, powerful, intelligent, and strong. 

“My darling, I’m so glad you could make it. I’ve so wanted to meet you.”

And suddenly, it clicked into her head. This was familiar. The cadence, the dance, the words. And Amarina became calm. She smiled, giving the Lady Iron a respectful bow. It was still a bit scary, facing one of the most accomplished players of the Game in Thedas, but this was, at least, familiar territory. It was easy to pull the ebb and flow of conversation from Vivienne. They both seemed aware of it. She was carefully respectful, exceedingly polite and charming enough that even her mother would have been impressed. She did not bother to stone over her expressions. Someone like Madame de Fer would see it right away if she tried to hide her emotions and would go after them instinctively. 

Someone like Madame de Fer could not be tricked like that. Dealing with her took absolute control on Amarina’s part. 

By the end of it, though, the Enchanter seemed amiable enough and agreed to come to Haven. Though, it was likely Vivienne’s goal in the first place, Amarina was willing to play as if they had come to the conclusion together. It allowed Madame Vivienne to feel more secure and know that Amarina conceded to her superior skill at the Game but with the understanding that, as the Herald, she was the one that was making the decisions. And Vivienne, as was her role, had to concede to her authority while appearing glad to do so, no matter what she thought personally. 

At the end of it, Amarina was tired and rented out an inn for her friends. At least if she couldn’t fight as well as the rest yet, she could ensure they didn’t always have to sleep in tents outside. 

Then, it was off to Redcliffe. 

 

 

 

There, she met Magister Gereon Alexius, who hit every red flag in her Shady Noble Checklist. She insisted on Cassandra standing by the table at her back, so she wouldn’t be sitting with a bare neck to the Magister’s lackeys. It was helpful when his son nearly fell on top of her. She barely jumped up in time to grab onto him when he collapsed. Cassandra was to the boy in a heartbeat, pulling him off of Amarina and holding him at arm’s length. Varric came around them to pull the bit of paper he’d crammed into the back of her belt after Alexius abruptly left them. 

“Ah, looks like he left you a love note.”

That was when they went to the Chantry and met Dorian Pavus. He was grey-eyed, dark-haired and handsome. His dusky skin was like warm caramel and his voice like satin on her ears. He told them what she had already concluded—that this was an elaborate set-up. 

Sera grumbled when they left the Redcliffe Chantry. “Oh look at me, fighting demons. I’ll take ten at once! Ease up, big horse!”

Solas smiled a little at the other elf’s sour expression. “He handled himself admirably.”

“Isn’t Tevinter weird enough without cults?” Varric sighed. 

“This whole business is distasteful,” Cassandra grumbled.

But for Amarina, there was no other choice. Seeing the situation the mages here were in, knowing the political situation in Tevinter—they had to take care of this mage noble.

 

 

 

“It’s so strange to see a mage-noble in a position of authority,” Amarina murmured at the map. “I wonder what Tevinter is like.” 

“I’d be happy to tell you sometime,” Dorian said, smirking and leaning against the war room table. He crossed his arms, looking over her.

She glanced up at him. “Oh…well. I would appreciate that, Lord Pavus.”

“Please, I left Tevinter to escape all that. Just Dorian, I would prefer. Or, dashingly handsome, as some young flowers have called me.”

She tittered a little. “I’m sure you’ve walked among many a young flower.”

The door opened. As Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine entered, Dorian leaned over to her. “All kinds and in all places. But of all the lands I’ve traveled, I’ve seen such variety here in the south. Though usually, the shy, studious young flowers were kept away from me.”

She felt her ears burn, eyes widening at him. She swallowed a little, well-aware of how the advisers were now watching, curiously. “I’m sure you’re a piranha, Lord Dorian.”

Dorian leaned up from her space. “Perhaps you’ll find out.”

“Lord Pavus,” Cassandra said sternly. 

“I do apologize, Seeker Pentaghast. I was merely showing my appreciation for southern nobility. I do love the supple, lean strength of the Free Marchers. And red hair is so unusual among the nobility in the Imperium.”

“Yes, I suppose all the red-heads would be _slaves,"_ Cullen growled.

Dorian notably paused. “Ah, yes, I do apologize. Please, continue.”

Amarina fought the burning in her face and waited until Leliana and Josephine were deep in discussion about Redcliffe castle before she raised her eyes. Cullen was looking sidelong at Leliana. His profile was chiseled and strong.

 _Oh!_ She reached into her pocket and felt the kerchief. That’s right. She needed to give it back to him. She let her eye wander over his armor, tracing the lion and following the defined lines of his collarbone and his throat. 

That was warm, she remembered. The stubble on his face and the scent of leather and spice and—

“Lady Trevelyan!” 

She jumped. “I—yes—I’m so sorry.”

Josephine’s lip were pressed together tightly, looking a little annoyed. “Please pay attention. I know it is difficult at times, your worship.”

Shamed, Amarina glanced down at the table. “Of course, Lady Ambassador. I apologize.” She completely forgot to hang back, excusing herself as soon as the meeting ended. She spent the next few hours training with Master Harker, blindfolded. And the next morning, she headed out to Redcliffe again. 

What an utter disaster it was.

She headed up the dais to the magister and when he cast his spell—she and Dorian vanished.

Rainier stared in the crippling silence that followed. “What have you done!”

“Where is she!” Cassandra demanded, drawing her sword. Solas and Sera started to circle the magister.

Varric whirled around to the scouts. “Get somebody out to the Nightingale. We have a problem.”

 

 

 

The Redcliffe she and Dorian found themselves in was horrid. 

She stared at him. At _just_ him. “This is not good, Lord Pavus.”

“I agree. But interesting.”

“No, Dorian—I—I don’t…I’m not very good at fighting. I don’t—I don’t know what to—“

Dorian set his staff aside and gently touched her shoulders. “It’s all right, my lady. Take some deep breaths, get ahold of yourself. Don’t worry. I will protect you.” He took a deep breath with her, watching her eyes settle down again. 

“I’m sorry. There’s….there’s been a lot of change lately and…moving through time is…rather…”

“It’s all right. Don’t think of the big picture right now. That can come later. For now, small goals, yes? We find Alexius and hopefully his amulet. With it, we go home. All right?”

She nodded, shaking out her hands and drew her cutlass. 

They found Leliana first, mutilated and brutalized. The spymaster stared at her for a long moment with a haunted, piercing gaze before she silently took some weapons and gear from the wall and put it on. 

They searched each cell, finding bodies. So many bodies. So many dead. Tortured. Possessed. The stench was suffocating. In one lonely cell, the remains of a familiar cloak was laying by the window. Amarina went to it and picked it up. “This is Cullen’s. Do you think he’s still here?”

“No,” Leliana said quietly, looking away.

“How do you know?” Amarina asked her.

“Because they killed him. He refused to submit. The torturer got carried away.”

Amarina reached out, gently touching the wall beside her as she imagined that sequence of events. The pain, the suffering, the trembling in her stomach that made her feel a bit faint. She shook out the cloak and put it in her satchel.

“What’s that?” Dorian asked, nodding at the floor, where something had fallen from the cloak.

Amarina knelt down, carefully lifting up a scrap of cloth. It was shredded, blood-soaked and covered in grime. But she recognized her own stitches anywhere. The single lion head that remained stared back at her. It was stained dark from blood. She stuffed it into her satchel and stood up before turning to walk out. 

For the first time ever, she felt a prickle of anger that made her want to _fight_ , to _hurt_ someone. To take her sword and strike. To…make someone _pay_ for this. 

That feeling intensified when they found Varric, Solas and the others. 

The Mark seemed to react as well, throbbing hot and painful on her palm, reacting to the intensity, stewing and swirling as she imagined, could only imagine….even what Rainier must have suffered.

What they all…

_Because of me. Because of me._

Her throat was tight as a drum when they found Alexius. The others were weak from lyrium sickness but they spread out in a fan to fight anyway. Demons and monsters and possessed bodies seemed to come at them from every direction. Someone lumbering up and swiping at her, another grabbed her hair and drug her to the floor. 

Suddenly the anger stuttered, paused—flooded with terror. So many teeth. So many mouths. Too many. Too many. _Too many_.

She shoved herself back, cutting her hands on the stone. One of the horrible Terror demons appeared in front of her with its spidery fingers. A touch to her shoulder and her whole body went cold.

It was impossible to ignore powerful spirits like this. They touched and it was like a sickness that spread through her whole body, crippling her with terror. Her mind clouded with panic. She rolled, trying to get up, shoving at the demon and ignoring the blistering cold that ripped through her skin when she touched its flesh. Another had her by the hair again, dragging her down, stabbing, pulling, tearing. She heard terrified screams, panicked sobbing as she struggled to surface among the grasping brittle fingers, icy cold and heavy. 

She scrambled, slipping on blood and managed to get up. Her jacket was tore apart down the back and her clothes hot and bloody. Amarina stumbled into one of the pillars and drew her cutlass. She was shaking so badly that she couldn’t move back. She raised the cutlass and desperately struck out. The demon hissed, shrieking into her, making something deep inside her teeth and her belly vibrate. Like a high-pitched whine that she couldn’t quite hear but could feel. She heard a shriek and she struck again, hoping it was the demon. Another terror demon materialized beside her, slashing her face open, slamming her into the pillar. Her cutlass snapped, flying apart in splinters against the stone. Her face hit the pillar with a jarring _wham_ and she staggered. Claws tore into her back again, shredding her skin as she threw herself sideways. There was nothing else for it. She drew her brother’s saber instead. It seemed to glow from the light on her left hand. She sunk into her dancer’s pose, slamming the blade into one of the demons and whirling around to slash open the other. The steps of a dance. Just the steps of the dance. 

Stylistic, powerful, toeing the line between violence and lust, just like flamenco dancing. Just dance steps. Just dance steps. At least until she got free, covered in gore and dripping in blood. She went to Alexius next. She walked into the midst of her friends, right passed Cassandra and blasted his barrier away with the Anchor. In a flash, she was through it. She didn’t stab Alexius so much as bring her blade up like a lumberjack with an axe. She felt it sink its full width, cracking through the skull. She jerked the blade out and kicked him to his knees. And then she hit him again, this time in the seam between shoulder and throat. Blood showered him, spraying out over her in a pink mist. The blade of Ethan’s sword was trapped by something. She jerked on it twice before she let go of his sword and drew her dagger. Amarina knelt on his chest, stabbing down over and over again. Stabbing and stabbing, hearing blood and the slap of flesh, the burst of air from punctured lungs and slops of brain matter and jelly from his eyes—

Until Cassandra grabbed her hands to arrest her movement. 

Amarina was shaking so much she could hardly see. She hadn’t even realized that she was sobbing. Her eyes were thick with tears, streaking down her face in rivulets through the blood. So much blood. She was soaked in it.

“Amarina!” Cassandra said, voice sounding foggy and faint.

She wheezed another breath, letting go of her dagger. 

“Amarina—you have to get up. Dorian is going to try to send you back.”

“C-Cassandra…I…I….” 

“I know. It shouldn’t have been like this.” The warrior pulled her saber free and sheathed it for Amarina and then did the same with her dagger, making her stand so she could check all her gear was in place. “We’re already dead, Lady Trevelyan—“

“Cassandra—you can’t—you all, you _can’t--!"_ She tried to grab into Cassandra’s sleeves but then Dorian was there, pulling her away. 

Cassandra went to Rainier and Sera, nodding to Vivienne and Solas and Varric. 

“We can’t let them do this, Dorian!” Panic clutched at her throat again when Solas shut the door with a solemn finality. She grabbed into Dorian's arm. “Dorian, we _can't_ —“

“We have no choice! We can’t change this if we don’t go back! Don’t move or we all die!” The mage yanked her through the rift when the demons swarmed over Leliana.

 

 

And then they were back. 

When they stepped out, she stared at Alexius, feeling blood bubble up between her own lips. But he fell to his knees and surrendered, thankfully. 

Cassandra entered her field of vision almost immediately. “Herald?”

Amarina looked down at her hands. She was covered in gore and blood. So much blood. 

Rainier appeared beside the Seeker. “Amarina,” he said quietly, and gently touched her shoulders. “Amarina, I’m so sorry…” He drew her in and she didn’t have the presence of mind to refuse. She was shaking. And even if it was Thom…there was still a comforting familiarity to him….from days spent walking the docks at—

She shook that away, fighting to get control of herself. “I think I might be sick….”

Thom put a hand on her spine and walked with her to one of the pillars, urging her to lean against it and sending someone running for a chair. Amarina kept looking at her hands, even as Thom urged her to sit. There was blood and tissue from something under her fingernails. 

_Don’t chew your fingernails, Amarina!_

_Don’t bite your fingernails, Lady Trevelyan! What would your mother say!_

_There’s blood and puss and bone and mush under your fingernails, my darling. So much blood. Do you want that in your mouth, on your teeth, against your skin like some common sellsword? So much blood isn’t--_

Amarina pushed her hair out of her face. It was sticking to all the blood. She looked up at Thom.

He was looking down at her, concerned. “My lady?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Thom.” She shuddered. “Can we go back to Haven now?” She asked, voice faint and shaking.

“Of course, I’ll go get our horses ready. There’s a river you can clean up in.”

She rocked back and forth in the chair.

 

 

 

It took them two days to return to Haven. It was like a blurred madness. She couldn’t remember chunks of what had happened, just all the blood. Thom took her horse when they entered the gates. She thanked him quietly and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Cullen and Josephine were coming forward to greet Cassandra. 

“You can’t be serious. The Veil is torn open,” Cullen said. “Letting the mages come here as our allies—“

“Do you _understand_ what would happen if we didn’t?” Amarina cut him off. It was rude, unladylike, unlike her at all to raise her voice. 

“Mages are not helpless innocents—they’re dangerous—abominations are inevitable. Seeker, you were there, why didn’t you intervene—“

“Commander!” Amarina snapped, eyes wide and nearly frantic. “If we had taken them in as our prisoners, then what happens to the mage rebellion?”

“It ends,” Cullen retorted.

“No. It simply _disappears_ , to surface again. But then, because we stripped away rank and title, now we don’t know who the leaders are. Then they turn to infighting and soon, you have conflict all over again. If we make them our allies, then they’re forced to both be treated like equals but also be forced to _ACT_ like our allies. If they want to show they’re more than just a rabble of apostates, this is the time. It hardly matters in any case for you, doesn’t it? They would be in danger regardless! All of us would be! All of us _are_ , Cullen!”

Cullen and Josephine both blinked, looking startled at the intensity of her outburst. That was when they suddenly noticed how her hair and clothes were still stained with blood and gore. 

“I think she needs to rest,” Thom said, pointedly looming over her shoulder, glaring at Cullen.

“We…” Amarina shook her head and turned away, heading into the gates. Thom escorted her but when he made to follow her inside, she raised a hand. “Don’t. I appreciate your help but don’t put yourself alone with me.”

“I want to help you,” Thom said quietly.

“I know what that means, now. I’m not seventeen anymore. You ought to help yourself first, ser.” And she quietly closed the door.  
-  
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	6. Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big sister Cassandra is the best Cassandra  
> \------
> 
> Rainier gets kinda testy (as he is prone to do) and tries to kiss her.  
> And she was all:.....nope. 
> 
> \------  
> “Yes—it was directly because of your actions and because I was too foolish to see what was happening until it was too late. Circumstance killed Letheen. They didn’t care about her. I blamed you because I was angry and because I was…” she looked away, shaking her head a little, “….I was scared and so much was changing so fast and I had never expected to see you again. And part of me wants to slap you every time you speak….and part of me remembers….remembers…”

Amarina sat on her knees in front of the fireplace. She rocked back and forth a little, looking at her brother’s sword. It was still encrusted in blood. Yes. There was no one here to clean it for her. She must look at it. She must do it herself. Her first real experience of combat. She’d had to fight for herself. Her fingers slid over the dried blood. It was strange that it was still here. Or was it? No one but she and Dorian knew what happened. The others did not have phantom memories of it. Perhaps because the blood was physical, it stayed on her sword?

Well, in any case.

She took out a small set of tools that Harker had given her. The metal and pewter winked in the dim firelight. It was the only light in her room. Everything else, including the sky, was dark. It flickered around her tools as she carefully unbolted the hilt from the blade. She would have to ask Master Harrit to retighten it for her. The young noble put the hilt aside, lifted the curved saber into a long and narrow tub. It was rather like a garden box but longer, empty and full of water. She slowly cleaned the blade, scraping off bits of blood with her fingernails and avoiding the eyes of her reflection. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders, burning gold in the corner of her eye.

The demons had grabbed her hair like a rope. Even pinned in a knot of braid like it had been—one tearing claw had ripped out the pins and turned her hair into a tether. And like taming a young horse, took her to the ground by it. She could still feel the cold stone on her cheek, taste the blood when she bit the inside of it when she hit the ground. That one moment of clarity, just seeing the rest of the floor, feeling cold terror, knowing this was it. 

Then the flurry of movement when her muscle memory caught up and she scrambled away.

Amarina took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She shook her head a little. When the blade was free of blood, she set it on a pile of soft rags to dry. She picked up the hilt next, scrubbing every inch of it until it gleamed. 

The wind was howling outside so she didn’t hear a knock, just her door open. 

She looked up from her seated position.

Cassandra came out of the shadows, stepping into the orange firelight. “Amarina?” Her eyes examined the Herald. She seemed numb, rocking back and forth a little as Cassandra had sometimes seen very anxious people do. But she was cleaning her sword. That was a good sign. Amarina didn’t answer. She just nodded a little to Cassandra. 

So the Seeker approached and sat down next to her. “Do you have oil?”

Amarina nodded silently and put the hilt down, turning to her little box of supplies and removing the pot of oil and another of leather sealant and then her whet stone. She put the two jars and the small slab of stone between them. “Master Harker gave them to me,” Amarina said, almost in a murmur.

Cassandra nodded and picked up the blade. It was such a graceful saber. Beautiful Antivan-style with the blade widening like a wave near the edge to a fine, precise point. The warrior picked up the whetstone. Cassandra felt, more than saw, the Herald pause in cleaning the hilt. 

“You don’t need to do that, Seeker Pentaghast. I’ll do it.”

Cassandra checked the saber’s edge before she looked down at Amarina. “Yes, you will. Every other time, you will do it alone. But this time, the first time, you won’t be.” And she looked back to the blade, setting the whetstone to sharpen the edge.

Cassandra felt Amarina just watch her for a moment and then return to cleaning the hilt. The two of them worked in silence for almost an hour. Cassandra examined every nick and coloration in the blade and then took the pot of oil to finish the sword to a gleaming shine. While she did so, Amarina put new sealant on the leather grip and set around oiling the rest. When each woman finished her part, they glanced towards the other until the opposite’s eye was caught.

“Will you please check my work, Cassandra?”

She nodded, taking the hilt to examine it. The Seeker did not look at her when she began to speak. “The first time I saw someone die, it was my brother. It was not the first dead person I had ever seen or even been close to. My uncle was a death mage. Death was familiar to me. But seeing someone that I loved die—that was the first time.” Cassandra flipped the hilt over. “To this day, I have never gotten my own screams out of my dreams at night. I begged to be sent to the Templars but I was sent to the Seekers. They taught me how to fight. They calmed the rage inside of me.” She glanced sidelong at Amarina, who was watching her closely. Cassandra slid the hilt and saber back together and Amarina soundlessly handed her the bolt and tool. “The first time I killed a man, a group of Templars I was leading were attacked by a mage,” she said softly, looking down at the bolt and winding it into place. “Even though I had been trained not to see him as a ‘person’ but as a ‘thing’, even though a tiny part of me still hated mages for the death of my brother, I still hesitated. I killed him, in the end. But it was nothing I cherished to do.” She flipped the blade, examining it and then turned to Amarina, offering the blade back to her. “The point is, even those of us brought up around the dead, even those of us with military training, even those among us who grew up around spies—we all hesitated to kill our first time. We think it should be harder but it is not. The body is surprisingly delicate. Killing only gets easy if you let it. Otherwise, you simply get used to it.”

“This feeling doesn’t go away,” Amarina said softly. She looked down at her knees. “You just learn to live with it?”

“Yes. Those who can’t learn to live with it will go mad. They either die or they become heartless butchers. I have seen both.”

Amarina looked up into Cassandra’s face. “Cassandra…” she looked down and wet her lips before meeting the Seeker’s gaze again. “….thank you.” 

Cassandra nodded and then awkwardly reached over and touched her spine. It was…rather comforting. She leaned a little on Cassandra and the touch shifted, gently brushing fingers through her hair. “Just don’t forget to go to Master Harritt and have him tighten the bolt for you.”

Amarina laughed. “Thank you, elder sister.”

Cassandra blinked in surprise and then smiled. It was bemused and pleased and surprised but it was a real smile. “I do not know if I can be a sister to the Herald of Andraste but I will try.”

The next morning, she was up before dawn. Unable to sleep, pacing from nightmares, she took her sword and went to meet Master Harker. He did not comment on her using her brother’s saber. Her merely drew his own and motioned her to begin. 

Her speed had increased, her strikes were stronger. There was a bubbling tension in her that he could feel. There was a sort of desperation that seemed to glaze over her eyes, turning to base instinct and muscle memory. She was not held back by fear or self-consciousness. It seemed to have dissolved, likely with the blood from the day before. It was part of the process. Everyone went through it at some point. They must look inside themselves and come to terms with what they’ve done and who they are and decide who they want to be afterwards. No one could do that for her. He could only give guidance.

There was a heavily scabbed slash down her face, marring the symmetry of her features. Her armor had been totally destroyed. Harritt was working on a replacement. For now, she’d borrowed some gear from the armory. 

She barely spoke a word during the session, only when he’d worn her to exhaustion did she raise a hand to yield. “Thank you, Harker.”

He studied her. “You needed that, I take it?”

“…yes, I think so.”

“I heard what happened. Are you all right?”

“…I’m not sure. I believe so, perhaps. I just…didn’t think my first experience of real combat would…would be like that.”

“No one would, my lady.”

She sheathed her sword. She looked at the snow quietly for a moment before glancing back to Harker. She opened her mouth as if to speak…and then closed it again. 

“You held yourself together as well as could be expected. You did not dishonor yourself, Amarina.”

She nodded a little, looking at the ground. “Thank you…Harker.”

 

 

 

Instead of returning to her quarters, she went near the blacksmith. Rainier was there, putting a new edge on his axe. She said nothing, cupping her left elbow in her right palm until he looked up and saw her. He paused and then stood. “My lady?”

“Might I draw you away from your work, ser?”

“Of course,” he said quickly and came around the workbench to fall in step as she began to walk through the snow. 

Rainier walked heavily in his thick boots. Amarina walked lighter, toeing snow out of the way a little as they entered the nearby patches of trees. 

“How are you feeling?” Rainier asked her softly.

“Better. Thank you for asking, ser.”

“Will you ever be able to call me Thom again?”

She glanced sidelong at him. He looked like he’d aged twenty years rather than nine. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and beard were tangled. “I suppose in time, perhaps.” She chuckled a little. “Perhaps I can get the tangles from your hair at that time.”

“Living alone, I don’t take much care of it, I suppose,” he allowed, smiling a little. “I used to find it endearing, how you’d make me sit so you could comb it.”

“You used to come to me with tangles hoping I would, didn’t you?”

“You’ve caught me, my lady.”

She shook her head, still smiling a little. “You’ve changed a lot….” She said softly, looking at the snow.

“Yeah, being on the run will do that,” he grumbled. “Getting found out by the Inquisition didn’t help.”

“Well, that’s not really my fault, is it?” There was a hint of a terse bite in her tone.

“No,” he said, after a moment of delay. “…no, it isn’t.”

“I’m _trying_ to talk to you, Thom.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to _you_ for weeks.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she said, looking ahead of them, lips pressed thin, “but a lot has happened lately. The least of which was my being at the Conclave. Perhaps there were more important things than getting into arguments with you about a fling you had with me nine years ago when you were twenty-six and I was seventeen.”

“Now I’m thirty-five and you’re twenty-six. As we get older, age doesn’t seem like such an issue and meeting up like this again. You the Herald of Andraste—“

“No, Thom, don’t. Don’t. Don’t try to make this out like its meant to be or something. It’s not.”

“If you would let me explain--“

“Explain _what_ , exactly!” Amarina cut him off, stopping under a pine tree to look up at him. “What do you wish to explain!”

“How I never meant for Letheen to be hurt. How I never meant for you—“

“It wasn’t your fault that Letheen was killed.”

Rainier paused, looking at her for a moment. 

“Yes—it was directly because of your actions and because I was too foolish to see what was happening until it was too late. Circumstance killed Letheen. They didn’t care about her. I blamed you because I was angry and because I was…” she looked away, shaking her head a little, “….I was scared and so much was changing so fast and I had never expected to see you again. And part of me wants to slap you every time you speak….and part of me remembers….remembers…”

He reached up, touching her cheek. “Long walks in the gardens, making up little songs, telling stories and you letting me waste your time telling you how pretty you looked.”

She shifted uneasily at his words. “Yes…we had good times. It was…like a dream. Some of it. Sometimes you were a perfect gentleman but sometimes you treated me like a…a glass vase that you didn’t want to break. I didn’t realize at the time, how unhealthy that was until you were gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t want me going anywhere without you. You didn’t want me speaking to other men—even my classmates. You were possessive, Thom. You listed between insane jealousy and cold brushoffs. I didn’t understand at the time.”

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“If you wanted that, then why were you involved with Lord Chapuis?”

“He made me an offer and I was stupid and took it. I should have turned it down—“

“No, Thom—I can’t believe that a noble of that standing would randomly approach you and offer you something to kill an ally of the Empress. How would he know that you wouldn’t turn on a silver and reveal him as a traitor? So you must have known him before that.”

Rainier looked away, scowling. “Yes, proved you’re real smart, aren’t you.”

Amarina sighed. “This is what I mean, Thom. You become so rude and hostile. It makes it very difficult to carry on anything civilized with you. Every time someone asks you about the Grey Wardens, you get the same way.”

“Because I don’t like it when people insult Grey Wardens? Because they remember sacrifice and honor—whereas people like Vivienne, Dorian, you—you nobles, take everything you can and ignore everyone else.”

Amarina pulled back from his touch. “Why do you do this, Thom? Yes, you hate nobles. You both despise me and yet, you don’t leave me alone either.”

“You seemed well-enough with it after Redcliffe,” he sneered.

“And you seemed well-enough with my being a noble when it was my family’s coin that frequently paid for your wine or funded your escape from Val Royeaux when you fled. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the things you stole when you came to me the night before you left?”

“I’m going to pay it back. With interest. I will—“

“I don’t want anything from you, Thom. It…has nothing to do with the money. It was that I…I…trusted you. I thought I loved you. You acted like you did and then you left. And now, it seems that you had little but disdain for me the whole time.”

“That’s—no, that’s not what I meant—“

“Then _say_ what you mean, _ser_! I am losing patience with your endless guessing games as if I were some brand of mind reader,” she commanded, eyes flaring at him.

“You were—you were different! You—“ he grabbed her, shoving her against the pine tree. “You were stupid and flighty but charming and bright and…you were…so….so different from what I was used to. And more innocent and kinder than many women I’d been with in Val Royeaux. And I didn’t know what to do and I just should have…I should have stayed so I could have just…so I could…” he pinned her against the tree and kissed her.

She made a sound of protest. Her hands went to his chest, pushing him away.

He didn’t let go. “You wanted me to—“

She slapped him. The resounding crack was loud in the still snowfall. “Get ahold of yourself, ser. You look at me and still see a child. Remove your hands or I will draw my dagger.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You may continue to believe that I am a helpless little girl if it makes you feel better about yourself, Rainier. But you _will_ let me go immediately.”

His hands lifted. “Amarina—“

“Don’t _ever_ do that again. I need you to understand, Thom. I thought I’d made it very clear. There will be no relationship, physical or otherwise, between us just because we knew each other. I wanted to _talk_ to you. To try to begin to understand what happened to you. Not to rekindle something. Not because I secretly desire you. I wanted to try to be your friend. There will never be anything beyond that, Rainier. Do you understand?”

Rainier searched her gaze. “You can’t expect me to just—“

“Yes, I can. And I _will_. And so will you, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You think you understand the world now just because you killed someone? They didn’t even exist—“ 

Amarina shook her head, raising her hand to silence him. “All right. I can see this is going nowhere. I will return to the Chantry. Give it some thought and when you’re ready to discuss it—perhaps we can speak again.” She started to turn away.

“You think you’re so much better than me…” He grabbed her by the shoulder when she tried to walk away, shoving her against the tree again. “It was a dream. You were a dream. You could never be what I really wanted. I was with a lot of women in Val Royeaux—but you, I wanted to protect you. And so, of course, you were my downfall. It’s because of you—“

“Don’t blame me for your murders, Thom.” Her voice dropped, going flat. And this time she braced herself and shoved him away as hard as she could. 

He staggered back and something strange went through his eyes, a boiling hot rage pent up inside of him that steamed over wildly. It was almost like he was seeing something else. He grabbed her by the hair when she tried to dodge away and shook her violently before he slammed her against the pine tree. She cried out very softly and the tree shook, pitching snow down into her red hair. But when he grabbed for her again, to try to pin her by her hip and her hair, she slashed him with her dagger. It arced silver across his face, slicing through part of his nose and cheek. He jerked back from her. 

She stared at him, silent, eyes wide and ready to slash again if he came at her. 

And then Thom seemed to come back to himself. He shuddered and looked at his hands. “Amarina…I’m…I’m so sorry. I….”

She sheathed her dagger and backed away. “Whatever you saw just now…wherever you just went inside your head…” She shook her head at him, keeping her eyes on him until there was about fifteen feet between them and then she whirled around and hurried back to Haven’s gates. 

_He used my hair like a tether. Just like the demons._

 

 

Her hair was the only thing she shared with her father. A rich, vibrant red that shone like gold in firelight. When she was small, before her elder sister Joanna rebelled and struck out on her own, Amarina would sit with her father in his study. She kicked her legs back and forth, watching him work. Listening to the scritch-scratch of his quill, she would let her mind wander over all his books, the characters she’d read—some of whom had become very dear to her—a tone and a story and a picture would scratch itself out in her head like her father scratched on his letters. 

 

_“You’re doing it again, Amarina.”_

_She was eight years old. She looked around her. “What was I doing, papa?”_

_“The rocking, Amarina. You rock back and forth. Hasn’t your mother been teaching you not to fidget?”_

_“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it.”_

_“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said evenly, almost monotone, green eyes still on his parchment as he scratched his name on his letter._

_”Why are you writing to the Ostwick Circle, papa?”_

_”Amarina. Children are seen, not heard.”_

 

Amarina stared at her hair in the looking glass and raised her dagger to it. 

 

 

She showed up in the early evening. It was getting darker earlier now with Harvestmere almost through. Amarina ran her fingertips along the stone walls, feeling the grit and gravel as she headed for the war room. She was wearing new gear, a leather surcoat, reinforced with silverite. Leather trousers, tough and stubborn and reinforced from the hips to the knees and new boots, bound with black leather from the Frostback Basin. The saber— _her_ saber was at her hip. 

She walked in silently, nodding to the other four. 

“Oh, Amarina,” Josephine began it as a question and then changed her mind part way through, “......you changed your hair. I see.”

She bowed her head slightly to Josephine. “Yes, Lady Ambassador.”

“Such a shame—we could do so many fashionable things with that hair in Orlais.”

“Perhaps by the time it grows back again, Lady Ambassador.”

“It still looks nice--a little longer than Leliana's now,” Josephine said kindly.

Amarina glanced away from her to look at their map. “So,” she said quietly. “What’s the layout for the area around the Breach?”

Across the table, Cullen and Leliana exchanged interested glances. 

The spymaster stepped forward. “We will have two squads leave ahead of us by a day. This will give them time to clear out remaining demons and ensure the spot is still in the same condition as last time. We have assigned a mage to each squad and we ensured that they both were former First Enchanters so that at least someone could help up there if they run into magical problems.” 

“They will secure a perimeter,” Cullen took over, “and my men will move ahead to secure the immediate area. After that, we will bring in the mages. There is enough space and crumbling brick work to layer them around the Breach. I imagine you will have to draw from them in the same way you close a Rift? But we can’t be sure. All we have are guesses. After the mages are in, then we’ll bring you in last. I’d like you to keep out of sight until you’re up.”

“He’s almost as paranoid as me,” Leliana tittered. “But I agree. There’s no telling who, among our people, could be among this Elder One’s spies, let alone the mages.”

“Solas has volunteered to stay by her side at the Breach. Given he knows the most about this magic, I believe it would be for the best,” Cassandra said. 

“That’s good,” Amarina said, voice still quiet and even. “The mages will trust him. He knows more than any of us about such magic. It could be his particular sensitivity to it will be what saves us if it goes horribly wrong.”

“I will also go with you,” Cassandra said. “But I do not think your advisers should go.”

Amarina glanced sidelong up at Cassandra and then across the table, where Josephine, Cullen and Leliana all hesitated. “She’s right. You all should stay.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Cullen said, gesturing to the women. “I would like to come, at least, to ensure—“

“No,” Amarina said. She did not raise her voice but her tone was stronger, a little firmer. “The Inquisition will need the three of you if we all get burnt to a crisp.” Amarina dusted some imaginary dirt from her trousers. “Is there anything else?”

“We can send out our men tonight,” Leliana said.

“Good. We’ll do it that way. But you three remain here when we leave tomorrow afternoon.” 

“As you wish, my lady,” Leliana said quietly. 

“A moment, before you go, your worship.” Josephine stepped around the table. “There was a letter for you this morning.”

Amarina hesitated in half-turning away. She exchanged a look with Cassandra and then went back to the table. Cassandra and Leliana left. Josephine handed her a thick, cream-colored scroll. It was sealed with the crest of the Trevelyan house in a thick, silver wax. 

“Thank you, Lady Ambassador,” she said, nodding to the woman as she headed out the door. She took a deep breath and looked up at Cullen, who had not yet left. “Lord Commander?”

Cullen fidgeted with his pencil a little. “I…wanted to apologize…I….felt I may have overstepped when I touched your hair. It was not my intention and I just wish to be clear. I'm not sure what came over me that day...but--it was inappropriate.”

She nodded. “I understand,” she replied. “Our lives have been very hectic. We’ve all done impulsive things. And you are dealing with so much, Commander.”

Cullen blinked, looking startled. "Oh--well, I--"

"It's true. And you're not made of stone, Cullen."

"Neither are you." Cullen came around the table, looking over her. “Dorian told me what happened…he told all of us. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you, ser. It was inevitable. I knew it would happen eventually.”

“Still. Knowing and doing are different things.”

“Ah!” She said, pulling a soft smile to her face. It was mostly a tired smile but it was a smile. She pulled out the handkerchief. “I feel as though we’re playing tag with this kerchief. You forgot it. I kept meaning to give it back to you.”

He looked at it, then at her. “Are you…certain?”

She nodded gently. “Please, take it. Pretend you’re a knight and tie it to your sword if you don’t like the lilac.” She laughed softly. 

“Like a Lady’s Favor?” Cullen asked, chuckling.

“I suppose I’m technically a Lady and you’re technically a knight, ser.”

“Ha, is there a ‘technically’ for that, Lady Trevelyan?”

That made her laugh, still gentle, soft and tired. “I suppose not, Lord Commander.”

“I can’t get used to a title like that,” he said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Then we shall say it very quietly or only inside our heads. I suppose the rest of the time, I shall just have to call you Ser Cullen.” She bowed gently to him and turned to go. 

 

She didn’t read the letter until she was back in her quarters. She broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. 

 

_Sister,_

_Perhaps these are the words you dread, Amarina, but as I’m head of the family now, I should like to come see this Inquisition of yours. Let’s pretend that we like each other? Or perhaps work on getting along? When the Breach has been closed, we will head your way. I’m calling back our brothers. Ian and James will be meeting me in Jader, where I’ve taken up a temporary residence to watch the Breach from afar. There are matters of inheritance we must discuss from both our parents and Ethan._

_Good luck being Bride of the Maker’s Maid or whatever,_

_Joanna_

 

Amarina sighed and rolled the scroll up. “I suppose they won’t let me delay this a few more months.”

 

 

 

The power from the Breach, from the mages, flowing through her like a medium. It was exhilarating. Every part of her was buzzing after she struggled up from the ground. She felt electrified. She shuddered with the alternating chills and flares of heat as the adrenaline started to ease. The Breach was closed. 

It was bittersweet, really, knowing that her role in this Inquisition was now…over. This had been her purpose for the last few months. She’d changed so fast and now….it was over. She had to wonder if the advisers would now ask her to leave Haven. 

Part of her wanted very much to return to solitude and painting and books. But after all this, after everything she’d experience….could she really leave it all behind so easily? She would leave Thom here to his fate with the Inquisition and….and do what? 

The more she thought about going home, the more she didn’t want to. She paced restlessly in Haven as the others danced and drank. Would her sister’s visit also be her collection? The Inquisition would take the opportunity to dump her out when Joanna arrived? 

It made the most sense, she knew. Any noble could see that. Now that her role was finished, it was best to let the Herald of Andraste fade away while they quietly worked on what could have created the Breach. Hold up an idol too long and the crowd becomes restless when you run out of miracles. The Inquisition should be seen as an authority, not her. 

But…maybe if she asked very gently and carefully to Cassandra….maybe Cassandra might think of something she could do. They still needed someone to close rifts, didn’t they? She didn’t need to be the Herald anymore, right? So she could be kept busy, closing up rifts until they figured out how to do it themselves. 

That made her look at her shoes. Solas would figure it out soon enough. And then there would be no reason to keep her around. She leaned against the Chantry wall, outside in the corner, so partially hidden by plants. Could she be of any use to them now that the Breach was sealed? When the Rifts were sealed? 

_No. I’m a useless noble. They don’t need dancers and painters. They need strong people. They need…_

Amarina shook herself. “This isn’t about you, my girl. Now you just stop with this self-pity right now. You’re alive. They’re alive. You’ve much to be thankful for. You lived when thousands died and now you’re worried about them sending you away—well, it doesn’t matter. You’re the youngest. If you want to leave home, Joanna can’t stop you. Uh. Me. She can’t stop me. I can go and…do things. Uh. Travel, maybe. By myself. I’d be fine.” She twisted her fingers together, pacing again along the path through Haven. “It will be all right. I’ll do something…new. And. And different. And….I’ll….” She wiped her eyes.

_I’ll miss them so much._

“Duck!”

She obeyed automatically. Her brain seemed to register before she heard it, dropping her legs down. A burning arrow shrieked over her head, planting itself into the thatched roof next to her.

Dorian skidded in beside her, offering his hand. “Best get the gates, I think? Sounds like maybe we have some objections come calling.”

 

 

But when she reached it, she felt her Anchor flare. She didn’t even hear what question Cassandra asked Cullen. She walked around them. Something…something felt…strange. Odd. And yet….not evil….but the strange tingling that she felt around demons of the rifts. But calmer, quieter. There were no rifts in Haven—

“I can’t come in unless you open!”

That startled her from the strange reverie. She hurried forward and a guard opened the gate. 

The boy stared at her.

Amarina jumped. His eyes were a piercing, hollow blue. Like dead aquamarines. It made his shadowed face look skull-like in the torchlight. 

“I’m Cole,” said the boy softly, peering at her under a very large hat. “I came ahead of them. They’re coming for you.”

Cullen was out beside her in a flash. “Who are you, boy!”

“The Templars come to kill you.”

Cullen grabbed Amarina by the arm, jerking her away from the boy and drawing his sword—

“They come now with all the redness in his eyes. He will kill everyone.” 

And then the dragon came for them. Screaming and shrieking into the night. Cullen almost dropped his sword and then grabbed the Herald and the weird boy, dragging them back into the gates. 

“Was that a _dragon_?!” Amarina demanded. “Why is there a dragon!”

No one had an answer for that and things moved very fast afterwards. 

When Roderick was held by the boy, Cole and the boy….seemed to know what he wanted to say before he said it….how strange. The boy was certainly odd—

There was no time to examine it.

“What of your escape?” Cullen asked. 

She looked up at him and realized she had no answer.

_Oh. This is what it feels like to face death._

How interesting. It was as if it were happening to someone else. Her vision unfocused, her stomach clenched and her breathing stopped. Her heart skipped a beat. And then her throat became tight as her stomach tried to ease. Adrenaline sending shivers up her arms and making her feel strangely breathless. It all happened in a split-second and then she said, “I’ll be fine.”

She turned away. 

Cassandra joined her wordlessly and the noble women exchanged nods. Varric followed cheerfully and Solas hurried after them. No doubt more interested in seeing this Elder One than he was afraid of being buried by an avalanche. 

Did he actually get to see the Elder One—oh, wait, no. The Elder One told her she ought to exalt him as Corypheus. For some reason, she thought of her sister. She thought of her sister getting flashes of inspiration at all the wrong moments, knowing its wrong, knowing you’ll be in trouble but doing it anyway. Because it will definitely be worth searing at their pride a little. Maybe that was what made her say, “Sorry, who?”

That was when he jerked her arm out of its socket and—those eyes. Those horrible twisting eyes. Those eyes. They burned into her. She hardly remembered him throwing her. There was a brief flash of annoyance ( _I’m always afraid my foot will get caught when I trigger the trebuchet. The lever will hit my foot and break all my toes._ ) and then falling. 

 

 

There were long hours of cold, exhaustion. The cold made her eyes water and she had to keep wiping the tears away from her eyes so they wouldn’t freeze. Her lungs felt thick, dense, sticky, painful when she finally stumbled into the snow. Everything was fading into a searing cold. An almost-heat of burning intensity. Her fingers and toes felt like metal clubs and then…

Then there was something heavy and sharp, a cold throat. Her eyes opened blearily again when the wind quieted. Canvas. So a tent. She was in a tent?

Cassandra removed her weapons and boots while Cullen unlaced her gloves. He pulled off the right one and then paused.

Inside the glove, where it would have rested against her palm, was a piece of a kerchief. It was blood-stained and shredded. It had clearly once had four corners. In the single corner that remained, there was a lion’s head. He reached into his pocket to remove the one she had given him. It was still clean. It still smelled like lilacs. He raised them to the lantern. It was a triangle torn from the upper left corner. Either that or she had simply owned two. Likely that. Still, he felt like he should be able to see some difference between the stitches. No one was _that_ good unless sewing was their life, right? It was just an odd feeling…like he’d looked at the torn one before. But…not. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra said.

“Yes?” he asked, becoming alert again and pocketing both kerchiefs. 

“I’m going to remove her gear. Please send Leliana and Vivienne to me.”

“Of course,” Cullen agreed, getting up quickly to excuse himself.  
-  
-  
-  
-


	7. Reach Through the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been busy. Have a new job and have been crazy trying to get the hang of it.
> 
> Then I tried making a music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOM993NlvdM
> 
> \-----
> 
> “But why would anyone go after Lord Felott? He was a good man.”
> 
> Varric sighed and shook his head. “…sometimes, Firefly, that’s the only reason people go after someone.”

Amarina sat up sharply. She braced herself on her bedroll. Sera was still asleep next to her. She’d stolen all the blankets again. The human got up, pulling on her boots and stepping out of the tent. The sun was rising over the peaks of the Frostbacks and her breath fogged, cold and crystalline in the air. Cassandra was already awake, standing at the large fire in the center of camp. Amarina pulled her cloak in tighter around her and approached.

The other noble nodded to her. “How do you feel, Amarina?”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly two days but you lost nothing to frostbite so we were fortunate.”

“How did you find me?”

Cassandra paused. “I…I don’t recall. We must have seen you breach the valley.

“I told them.”

Amarina jumped a little as the strange spirit-boy appeared beside her. “Cole?”

“I saw you coming. You’re so bright. I saw you and told them. Cullen carried you back. He has the piece you saved.”

She looked at her glove. “The kerchief?”

Cole nodded, wringing his fingers together. “It is…a game. Almost. You didn’t realize.”

“Herald?” Cassandra said, loudly, curiously.

Amarina looked up at her. “I…I have to go. Where is Commander Cullen?”

“I believe he is looking over maps of the area in his tent.”

Amarina looked around until she spotted the black and gold banner of the Inquisition that was painted on the side of Cullen’s tent and started towards it.

Cole looked at Cassandra. The warrior startled, at if just noticing him. “Who are you?!”

Cole smiled gently.

 

 

Amarina opened the tent flap. Cullen was leaning over a table, marking his map with little nails. Three captains were across from him. The commander did a double-take when she entered.

“Herald,” he said and then nodded to the captains. “That’ll be all for now.”

She got out of their way and then approached the commander’s table. “You have it, don’t you?”

Cullen looked slightly embarrassed. “The kerchief—I didn’t realize you had more than one.”

“I don’t,” she said quietly, folding her hands together. “That piece was…from the future I saw with Dorian.”

Cullen blinked at her and reached into his pocket to withdraw the bloody strip. “You found this in Redcliffe.”

“With…” Amarina smiled a little, sadly. “It was with…your things. I…I couldn’t….leave it behind.”

Cullen stared at her. “I…had it?”

“Yes. Leliana told me…that you died with it. And I…” her voice choked a little.

Cullen walked around the table, holding the scrap. She reached out, touching it and then took his hand. Cullen drew her in, one hand going to her hair, the other to her back. She shuddered against him.

“Haven was very close,” she said softly. “I’m glad you made it out, Cullen.”

“You could have died,” he murmured to her hair. “I will never let that happen again.”

The two of them stood together quietly for a moment, taking comfort from each other. Whatever she had seen, it had clearly disturbed her. He had not even been certain as to how he would react when he saw her. How many times had these bits of fabric been passed back and forth? And she had hurried in, windswept and snow in her hair. Her gaze, he felt it immediately. So tired and confused and raw. When he looked for himself....her eyes betrayed her. They were fragile, suddenly. She wanted to get closer, somehow. She could feel the cold steel of his armor, the strength in his arms, a light breath of air against her hair—but somehow…she wanted to be closer.

She drew back instead, that was too much to consider right now. She smiled up at him a little and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I suppose I need my future-kerchief's corner back.”

That made him smile, warm and soft. “Yes. And from now on, if you wish to speak to me—we don’t have to pretend it’s about the kerchief?”

She laughed softly. “Thank you, ser.”

“The others will want to see you,” he told her gently, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone before withdrawing his touch.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and wiped her eyes, still smiling a little. “Until later then, ser.” She took a deep breath and turned around.

Cullen watched her steel herself, her back straighten, regaining her bearing and stepped out of the tent.

 

 

 

When Solas took them to Skyhold, Amarina had to stop, staring at it. “How did you know about this place?”

Solas smiled gently. “Lore and—“

“The Fade?” she answered, smiling at him.

Solas peered sidelong at her. “Indeed.” And then he smiled, as if studying her. 

The keep was impressive but when Cassandra offered her the role of Inquisitor, she hesitated. Up in front of all these people, looking at her with such expectation. She looked back at Cassandra, uncertain, almost stricken. “I…I don’t think that I…”

“You are a leader, inside,” Cassandra assured her. “It is coming out, slowly but surely. When things needed to be done, you did them. Regardless of your feelings on the matter. We want you as our Inquisitor.”

So she took the heavy sword, declaring she would do what was right. Whatever that meant. 

Gears turned and soon the Winter Ball was in planning. Josephine presumed, correctly, that she already knew how to dance in court. And she was correct. So she was tasked with helping some of the others.

Solas was the most interesting one who showed up. He smiled a little. “I have heard you know the Antivan flamenco style?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I believe that style is related to an older elven style. Might I see a demonstration?”

“Oh. Well. I…certainly.”

“Who was your instructor?” Solas inquired, sitting quietly in a chair while she unlaced her boots.

“Lord Stephano Felott. He was an extraordinary teacher.”

“He was?”

“Oh, he died—very suddenly, while I was in Val Royeaux. His funeral was massive. Most of Val Royeaux showed up. He was much respected—even my duelist instructor, Harker, knew him.”

“So he was a swordsman, as well?”

Amarina paused. “Oh…I suppose he likely was. He never talked about battle or combat—in regards to himself. I never thought about it—but it makes sense.”

“How did he die, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“He became very sick quite suddenly. From what I was able to find—he became ill and within a day and a half, he was dead. The Templars of the White Spire looked into the matter but found no evidence of magic and so it was eventually ruled that it must have been illness. It was just odd because he was very healthy.” She pulled off her boots and stood up. “Well, in any case, I can’t do him the credit he deserves but I will try.”

Partway through _Dance of the Fire Witches_ , Dorian, Varric and Cole wandered in and watched. 

“I didn’t know there was a performance here!” Dorian said, clapping his approval. “Dance of the Witches, isn’t that? A Marcher interpretation of an Antivan style? That’s been performed in Nessum during the Wintersend festivals.”

“Really?” Amarina asked, surprised. “I’d no idea it was performed in Tevinter.”

“As far as Minrathous, even,” Dorian said. “Though we use real fire.”

Amarina chuckled. “Of course you do.”

“How about it, Cole, would you like to learn to dance?” Dorian asked the boy.

Cole shook his head. “It’s hard to do both. To listen with your feet as well as your heart.”

“Perhaps a few simple steps then, Cole?” Amarina said gently, holding out a hand to him.

Cole hesitated.

“Go on, kid,” Varric told him, giving him a little push.

Cole was taller than Amarina had initially thought. He was gentle and kind and so sometimes it was hard to remember that he was nearly eight inches taller than her. He was a little taller than Solas but not as big as Cullen. Cole had surprisingly dense muscle in his arms, though his overall build was lean. 

She took his hands gently, giving him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Cole. It’ll be a snap.” She placed one of his hands at her waist and took the other in her own fingers. 

The boy looked down at her, taking a moment to settle himself. He looked at their feet and their hands and their knees but never quite looked into her eyes. “You like dancing. When you dance, you can be whoever you want. You could even be a witch.”

Amarina paused a moment and then nodded. “That’s true. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be a mage. Now—I will try to help guide you, Cole. Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

“Your right foot first, Cole—take a small step towards me.”

He did and she slid her foot back. “You see. It’s an ebb and flow, like waves of the tide. When you move forward, I move back and when I move forward, you move back. Now your left foot, Cole.”

He obeyed, watching her move to accommodate him. “It’s…a rhythm,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Like music, a sweeter song than he expected. When the box was delivered, he didn’t know who it was from. But he opened it anyway. And when he did he found a smaller box and when he opened it, it played such music. It burrowed into him, the song. It wanted to know him because he knew you.”

Amarina shot a glance at the others and then back at Cole. “Knew me?”

“Yes,” he told her. “Like your father knew Ethan but never knew you. How your mother knew James but not you. How your sister knows you but you never knew her.”

Amarina stared at him. “Wh-what?”

“Stephano felt it. He used dance to bring it out because he couldn’t otherwise. Not anymore. He used to hear the song but then the Templars took it away. He came south and heard it when he danced. A spirit touched him and made him real again.”

“Are you…suggesting that her dance instructor was a mage?” Solas asked carefully.

“They took the song away from him. He tried so hard to get it back.”

“He was…made Tranquil?”

“What?!” Amarina demanded, looking stricken. “Wait—how is that—that _can’t_ be! He was normal!”

“There was another he knew with your name,” Cole answered. 

“We could look into it?” Dorian suggested. “It sounds like he reversed Tranquility and either went mad or something—“

“Sent him some red lyrium,” Varric interrupted. “When the Stone starts singing…bad things happen.”

“But why would anyone go after Lord Felott? He was a good man.”

Varric sighed and shook his head. “…sometimes, Firefly, that’s the only reason people go after someone.”

Amarina looked up into Cole’s startling blue eyes. “…how do you see that?”

“It’s in you. Your thoughts touched his.”

“But how—“ and then she froze, eyes widening at Cole. “The Fade.”

“Yes,” Cole answered. “I can see pieces in dreams. But the Fade is always moving, shifting to itself, to part and flow like water. It feels everything. You could never reach through like this—you made it so loud. And now it….it reaches through you and everything that the Fade remembers about you.”

“Does that mean that…I could…learn to use magic?” Amarina asked him, suddenly feeling like everything else was muted and quiet as she stared up at Cole.

“It pulls you but not like Dorian. He reaches and it grasps, just the edges, tips of fingers and edges of icebergs. Dorian pulls it through, dances with it and speaks to it. But you’re different. You haven’t reached but it’s grasping for you anyway, pulling towards you, wanting the outlet—the floodgates of a dam, all on you. It’s so very heavy with voices from those who are lost to you now.”

“Stephano?” Amarina asked him slowly.

“Yes but some of them, one of them, is still alive.”

Amarina stared at him, feeling stunned, strangely breathless. Could Lord Felott be alive? And then she seemed to fall out of her own head. She watched her hand reach up, gently touching Cole’s jaw. The mark flared—

“No!” Solas was suddenly at their side, grabbing Amarina’s left hand and covering the mark. “You cannot look into the Fade through him, Amarina!”

Amarina started a little, looking surprised with herself. “I….I’m…I’m so sorry. I…I’m not sure what came over me.”

“You hear it calling to you but you didn’t know. The Mark lets you hear the song.”

Amarina looked at her mark, folded up and hidden in Solas’ large hands. “The one I have always danced to?”

“In your head,” Cole told her gently. “Small hands and a wide open sky, calling out for her to take your fingers and dance with you. And then she was gone. You didn’t understand. You weren’t born then.” Cole looked at his fingers, curling them together. “Later, you heard it. _Papa, who are you writing to?_ ” Cole looked down. “I’m sorry. I hear hurts, it lives on no matter how you try to pull yourself from it. In everyone.”

Amarina released Cole and stepped back from him. “I’m so sorry, Cole. I didn’t take your warning seriously. I should have. I am so sorry.”

Solas let her go. “You would be wise not to attempt that again. The mark connects you to the Fade directly. And as spirits possess the physical in this world, it is theoretically possible for same to happen in reverse. You could destroy what Cole is, unintentionally, if you were to take possession of him.”

“I didn’t even think that was possible,” Dorian said quietly. “A mortal to possess a spirit?”

“It shouldn’t be…” Solas said, looking down at the mark. “But the mark’s magic is unpredictable and extremely dangerous. You not being a mage, I did not think the mark would enable you to do much more than close rifts but we could be wrong about that.”

It would be something they could discuss once the Winter Palace was out of the way.

For the time being, dancing lessons for Cole were put on hold. 

 

 

 

 

Thom Rainier sat in Robert Chapuis’ foyer. He was in uniform because he wasn’t yet sure why he was here. Chapuis was a chevalier—and that was all Rainier knew about him. 

“Leiutenant Rainier,” said a servant, approaching and bowing to him, “Lord Chapuis will see you now.”

Thom stood up, swallowing hard around the knot of his collar. He nodded to the servant politely, fingering the rim of his cap nervously. He followed the servant through a long hallway that opened into an impressive library, on a third floor tier of staircases, the area expanded further to include a large glass globe and a desk where a man was sitting. 

“Ah Lieutenant Rainier, yes?” said the man when he saw him, standing up to greet him.

Rainier bowed a little stiffly. “Milord.”

“How long have you been in service to the Empress?” Lord Chapuis asked, pushing his chair in to pace around the large glass globe.

“I entered her service three years ago, my lord.”

“How old were you, then?”

“I was twenty years old, my lord.” Thom’s eyes traveled the room. They seemed to be alone but he still felt like he was being watched. And he was still not certain why he was here. This man, Chapuis—he’d heard of him but never met him. There were candles here and there around the room, but it was dim, casting long shadows. There were no windows in this library to send any help from the outdoors.

“It’s interesting to see a Free Marcher do so well in the Orlesian military. What brought you to us, Lieutenant?”

Thom looked around the room again, the back of his neck prickling. “More opportunity here in Orlais, my lord.”

“Really? No family here?”

“None, my lord.”

“I heard you have a sister.”

“She died many years ago.”

Lord Chapuis looked at him from the glass globe. “How did she die?”

That made Thom stop cold. “What’s this about, my lord?” Thom asked.

Lord Chapuis smiled. “I find your case interesting. Please, step forward, Lieutenant.” 

Thom hesitated and then did as asked, walking over to stand on the opposite side of the glass globe. The globe was a collection of star charts, a map of constellations etched across clear glass and lit internally by a candle. 

“Now, I will ask you again, Lieutenant. How did your sister die?” 

Thom felt his hands go cold. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong but he couldn’t—

He blinked, suddenly seeing the archer in the mezzanine above them. It was a man in a servant’s garb. 

“I’ve heard some very interesting whispers about why you came to Orlais. I would like to hear them,” said Lord Chapuis. He followed Thom’s gaze up and smiled. “Don’t worry, Thom. I have no intention of killing you—it is merely for my own protection. I believe you might be someone I’d have use for.”

“Use for?” Thom repeatedly quietly, taking a step back.

“I wouldn’t,” Lord Chapuis warned, still smiling. 

Thom stilled, eyes jumping back up to the archer’s cold expression.

“I hear that your sister died a gruesome death. Is that true?”

Thom’s mouth went completely dry. “….yes,” he managed slowly.

“To settle a debt.”

Thom felt his heart skip. “I didn’t intend—I thought they would come for _me_ , not her. I didn’t—“

Lord Chapuis raised his hand to silence Thom. “You gambled with dangerous men when you were young. It happens. Unfortunately, they were bigger than you expected, yes?”

Thom hesitated at the lord’s strangely…understanding tone. “Well….yes.”

“And you had no friends to assist you.”

Thom shook his head. “No, my lord.”

“What if I could give you those men—well, one of them anyway. The other three were killed when they were arrested.”

Thom stiffened. “What? Why would you—“

“Because I am loyal to the empire of Orlais and when one man suffers, we all suffer. You came here to hide from the men who butchered your sister instead of you. I have an interest in such men, who strive to survive. Who live to fight on, to strive to go on instead of succumbing to despair.”

Lord Chapuis watched the Leiutenant’s face flicker through uncertainty while he tried to figure out if that was good or bad. He seemed to decide that it was good (or at least, not bad), which was exactly what Lord Chapuis expected. “I have watched you, Lieutenant Rainier and I believe you have great potential. So, as a gift from one loyal man to another, I found the last remaining man who attacked your sister and I give him to you. To do with as you see fit.”

The doors opened and two guards came in, dragging the man. 

Thom felt all the breath evacuate his lungs, seeing him again. That man, raising that knife—how she must have died in pain, in terror. 

In the strange silence, Lord Chapuis said, “Go on, young man. Show him ferocity.”

Rainier’s vision blurred and he was on the man, his dagger coming out. He was quick, efficient—he slashed his throat so deeply that half his knuckles could feel his esophagus sputter and shower blood. 

Lord Chapuis watched, leaning against his desk at the young officer. “I hope we can be friends, Lieutenant Rainier. You are exceptionally skilled in combat and much respected among your peers. When we fight for the empire, I want you at my side.”

Rainier’s eyes were still hollowed out, but he turned his face to Chapuis and shuddered. “Why would you do this for me? Why?”

“Because of your potential. Perhaps, if it please you, I could call on you again, sometime.”

Rainier peered at him and then looked at the floor and nodded. “For what?”

“A favor.”

 

 

But it didn’t stop at one favor. The first time was simple, he simply wanted an armed escort for his daughter. Chapuis paid him for his time, quite well. 

Perhaps….perhaps not all nobles were bad? This man had found his sister’s killer and asked him a small favor and paid him well for it.

So when Chapuis came with the second favor (“I’m so sorry to bother you—you just did such exemplary work, Lieutenant, that I feel I can trust no one else.”), he accepted immediately. Certainly, certainly, he could protect the Lord’s caravans. He would also keep anyone from searching it. Perhaps he’d simply found some lyrium to sell. No harm in that, right? The Chantry controlled lyrium utterly. Surely there was nothing wrong with selling some you might find, though.

And again, Robert Chapuis paid him well. 

A month later, Robert Chapuis asked him, “How would you like to be a captain, Thom? There’s some work in the Dales that I could have for you.”

A few traitors to execute—Robert Chapuis had no proof but why would he lie? This was about the security of the empire. Robert Chapuis was loyal. And the thought of putting on Captain before any other lieutenant, to have his own battalion and a handsome stipend and perhaps even a house in Val Royeaux. He could find a wealthy, gentle noble girl and then he’d only be a handful of years to make Major. He could have all that—and Lord Chapuis was going to help him. 

He’d learned something, at least, from his regret at not accepting that chevalier’s guidance at the Grand Tourney. This time, he would listen. He’d be smart. He’d help Chapuis and get what he wanted in return. 

“Yes. I want to be a captain, Robert.”

The lord’s eyes narrowed and he smiled, looking pleased. “Then you’ll leave at the end of the week. I’ve already gotten orders prepared for you so that you can be stationed on the front.”

“Thank you, my lord. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“I know, Thom.”

 

 

Thom Rainier sat in his quarters in Skyhold. He put his forehead in his palm.

_Such a fool. I was such a fool._


	8. Massacre of the Marionettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music I had on repeat while I was writing the dance: 
> 
> Marco Polo by Loreena McKennit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q50WILS9Wrw  
> Tango to Evora: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7XwK2ytJFQ
> 
> Also, I base the Antivan style Amarina learned on the tango and flamenco dancing. It would be most reminiscent that kind of heavy, rhythmic, passionate style of dancing (where its almost more about the dancers than about the steps themselves)
> 
> ==I put some links in the Notes for examples of the Tango. Take a peek, if you're interested.
> 
> \--  
> Cullen/Inquisitor  
> Past!Thom/Past!Inquisitor  
> \---
> 
> “If you want a paired performance, you should find a partner,” Solas suggested.
> 
> Amarina paused in the midst of taking off her gloves. “There’s no time and no one I’d trust among this nest of vipers on the floor.”
> 
> Solas suddenly smiled, looking bemused. “Then perhaps I could help?”
> 
> She did a double-take. “What?”
> 
> ===========

It was snowing when the door knocker clacked against the wood. Letheen blinked when she opened the door.

“Ser Rainier?”

“Where is Amarina?”

“She’s in the study—Captain? Captain Rainier!”

He barged passed her, dusted with snow as he hurried into the apartment. “Amarina!” He called out, heading into the hallway. Letheen shut the door and hurried after him. 

“Ser Rainier—what’s wrong?”

A side door opened and Amarina appeared in the hallway with a paintbrush. “Thom? I thought you were—“

Thom grabbed her by the shoulders, urging her back inside the room and shutting the door behind him. 

“Thom? What’s wrong—“

He kissed her, pulling her into his arms and grabbing into her hair. He felt her shudder. She stared up at him when he broke apart from her. She searched his face. “Thom—are you all right?”

“Yes, I just returned from a mission. I just needed…I needed to see you.” He touched her face gently, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re a good woman, you know? Gentle, kind…you…”

“…Thom, what is wrong?”

He kissed her again, working his fingers into her hair and shifting to mouth down her throat. She breathed sharply and one of his rough hands went to her smock. He uncoupled the buttons. There were a few smears of damp paint on it that he ignored as he slid his hand inside of it. Beneath it, she was wearing a thin cotton nightshirt. It did nothing to hide how her nipple hardened when he palmed it. 

“T-Thom—“ she managed, cutting herself off when he slid his hand under her shirt. He drug it up with his hand, massaging the bared skin. 

The captain stepped into her, pushing her back into the wall. He pulled the painting smock off her shoulders and ducked in to kiss her collarbones as he uncoupled the buttons of her nightshirt.

“Thom—you—you shouldn’t—“

His mouth touched her breast and she shuddered under his hands. His tongue lathed against her nipple, sucking on it. Her spine arched against the wall as she made a small, surprised sound. 

“Let me stay with you tonight,” he said roughly, hands moving down to grab her hips. 

“I…Thom…that…it wouldn’t be…” she struggled for vocabulary, overwhelmed. 

“Some things are more important than whatever honor stupid nobles pretend to have.”

Amarina recoiled a little, looking uncertain. “Does that mean you’re…going to stay from now on?” 

The captain paused and hesitated. “Why do you need that? Why can’t you just…just be all right with what is here, now?”

She blinked at him. She didn’t know how to express that it was duty to her family, their honor and her own, her own sense of self-worth. Did she _need_ to give herself to him? She was inexperienced when it came to men, did she simply not understand? 

“If you love me, then you could afford me a small comfort,” he told her.

She leaned back from him, trying to get a handle on what exactly he was asking from her. That seemed incredibly selfish of him—but maybe she just didn’t understand? She was a bit absent-minded sometimes. She shouldn’t assume, right? Why would he—

He kissed her again, the tension in him revealing his impatience as he pushed against her. He slid a rough hand into her soft pants and heard her breath in sharply when he touched between her thighs. “You’re wet,” he said. “That means you want it.”

“Want what—“

He kissed her throat, massaging between her thighs. “Things might get bad around here soon. But I’ll be closer to Major and you will just be able to paint and I want you—“

“Thom—I don’t understand—what happened?”

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” He slid a finger inside of her.

She tensed up all over and then he shoved her back, pressing her up against the wall and leaning over her. The fringe of his hair touched the wall as he caged her in. “Thom—Th-Thom! Please—don’t! Don’t!”

Thom suddenly jolted, freezing around her, hearing the fear in her voice. _The fear_. She was afraid of him. He took a moment, coming back to himself, taking deep breaths and withdrew his finger from her body. It was wet and hot inside of her, maddening and she was a virgin—she had to be. Guaranteed to be _tight_ and…

She strangled a sob.

“It’s…I…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. We won’t—I won’t do…that. I…” He went back between her thighs but didn’t press into her. He found that nub of nerves, massaging her folds and feeling her tense up, helpless to it as he brought her to climax. 

Her whole body shook, clearly having never experienced such a thing before. Thom wanted nothing more than to tear her clothes away and _fuck_ her raw against the wall. He’d _make_ her like it. Did it even _matter_ if she liked it? But…

But…. _no, I…I can’t do that…_

That would make him more of a monster, wouldn’t it? Three days ago, he’d killed a _child_. A child. Something he never thought he would do. Lord Chapuis had paid him well for each head. Curly brown hair, matted with blood, sticking out of the top of the sack. 

That was war in a nutshell, each sack with the head of a dead, innocent child. Just a bi-product of war--of a bloodline. These things happened. In a war, Amarina would be caught quickly, probably raped repeatedly before she was murdered. It was just how things were, right? Of course. He was just taking advantage of it. It wasn’t his fault. It was just how things were. 

_It’s not my fault._

He felt her fingers digging into his arms as he held her up, burying his nose in her hair. He was rock hard against her hip. His armor still smelled like blood and she smelled like lilacs. And…

“I’m sorry,” he managed, loosening his grip. “I…we….had a mission. It was…bloody. I…” 

She pressed away as far as she could against the wall. Her eyes were still wide, a little fearful and wary. She swallowed hard. “You….it was…bad?”

Maybe that was all this was, she considered. He had a sudden, violent reaction because he was…upset, right? That was all this was. He was just upset. And he lost control. It was…it was a fluke, yes?

Her father did the same thing to her mother and her mother had done the same thing to their children. They lashed out when they were upset.

Thom let her go, staggering back a little and then went to the decanter on the sideboard. He poured a glass of brandy and drank it quickly. He stared down at his hands as she finally moved.

Amarina fixed her clothes, feeling something suffocating settle into her chest. She wanted to help Thom but…but she was also afraid to get closer to him. He seemed…unsettled. Like he was on the verge of losing all control completely. “Thom,” she said quietly, faintly. “Just…maybe sit down? And…and relax. Um. You can have more brandy, if you wish. If it will…if it will help?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again and did as she asked, sitting down on a small couch next to the fireplace. 

She approached slowly, cautious in sitting down next to him. She reached up, carefully combing her fingers through his hair, trying to ease his tension. 

His head sunk a little—so much pain and those children with the _hollow eyes_. 

She didn’t know that, of course, but she drew his head to her shoulder, trying to placate him. He wrapped his arms around her, felt her tense up but when that was all he did, she slowly relaxed again. 

Rainier leaned into her and then seemed overcome with exhaustion. Whatever was troubling him, perhaps he could tell her when he had his thoughts together. So she didn’t wake him when he fell asleep. She eventually dozed off with his head in her lap, fingers nestled in his dark hair—protective and comforting.

In the morning, he was gone.

As was, Letheen would tell her later, a small collection of her jewelry, her copies of three rare books, a few other high-priced tomes and her violin. 

“I don’t understand,” Amarina covered her eyes for a moment. “If he needed money, why didn’t he simply ask? I would have given it to him. Why would he…steal from me?”

Letheen looked stoic but her eyes were somber and dark. “You told me how he acted strange sometimes.”

“Do you think he got into some sort of trouble?”

Her elven maid hesitated, looking like maybe she pitied her naiveté. “Perhaps, my lady.”

“Should we not look for him then? Perhaps we could tell the guard?”

“I think you might simply leave it to them, Amarina. I’ll go to aviary and send a raven to Ostwick’s chantry so we might get word to your parents. The ring with the aquamarines and pearls was your grandmother’s. I will go speak with the city guard about keeping an eye out for stolen goods.”

 

Amarina didn’t remember waking up. The memories were there, then gone as she slipped back into sleep. Slipped back into the Fade. 

Slipped back…

 

 

 

Varric and Cassandra must have looked comical, standing outside the gates of Haven. If only for the absolute horror in their eyes. A bright flash sparked in the clouds again and shrieking terror as if the universe itself was wounded.

Cassandra felt her knees go weak, hitting the snow and staring upwards. That was a hole. A hole in the sky. 

_To the fucking Fade._

Demons flooded through it, shrieking. The panic was immediate around them. Fuck the mages. Fuck the templars--there was a fucking _hole in the sky._

"Holy shit," Varric whispered.

"Most Holy...." Cassandra answered. She felt dizzy as debris came streaking through the air at them. 

_(Seeker!)_

Cassandra felt numb. She couldn't hear anything, just a vacuum of silence. 

Something inside of her cracked apart and then Varric cracked her upside the head. 

"Seeker! We gotta go! Wake up!"

And like a breath in reverse, Cassandra slammed back into the present. She was on her a feet in a flash and whirling around. Behind them, Cullen was staring, shaking. It was like his life was flashing before his eyes: demons at the Circle, demons in Kirkwall, did demons follow him everywhere?

Varric looked unsteady beside her, staring at the breach and seeing Kirkwall again, just like Cullen. Just like Leliana. Just like Hawke.

Hawke.

The Champion of Kirkwall, like a hero from legendary tales. Was Hawke watching this now, with the same horrified expression?

Cassandra drew her sword and everything cleared in her mind. The tunnel vision lifted and she heard herself roar: "To arms! Inquisition, with the Commander! Scouts to me! Guard wall rotation, down here now! Lieutenant Petersen," the Seeker continued, rolling into command like a hurricane, "Get me Minaeve, Josephine and Chancellor Rodrich. Lieutenant Huyan go find out where Leliana is."

"She was on her way up to the mountain," the Leiutenant said quickly, eyes wide.

Cassandra felt her lungs clench. "Then go, report to Captain Flighthouse and tell him you're to scout ahead." She whirled around as the guards came down from the wall. "You will patrol with the scouts, search for survivors and take a couple of the healers with you." Cassandra turned on her heel to head for her horse. 

Varric followed her immediately. "Seeker--!"

"Stay here, Varric. You will be safer here." 

"Bull _shit_." He headed for his horse, a stout dwarven shortleg.

"Sergeant Ritner!" Cassandra called out.

A woman with coarse, curly hair tied away from her face came out of the smithing area. "Yes, Seeker Pentaghast."

"Go to Commander Cullen--he might need assistance."

"Yes, Lady Seeker," she said and hurried down the dirt path to the ex-Templar. 

"I take it even the former Templars here don't know Curly isn't taking Lyrium anymore?"

"No. And we prefer to keep it that way," Cassandra said sharply. 

"Hey, I'm not here to hurt Curly--I like the guy. He never tried to arrest Hawke. And he let her get away with some stuff that Meredith could have killed _him_ for."

"A shame Hawke isn't here so that I could hear the story from her myself."

Varric rolled his eyes but he glanced up at the Breach. _Andraste's ass, thank fuck Hawke wasn't up there. You dodged an arrow again, birdface._ He was relieved that he himself had not been up--but that Hawke could have been there...thank fuck he hadn't given her up to Cassandra. Hawke owed him some omelets when he saw her next. 

A wave of heat rolled over them as they headed up the mountain. The horses reared, snorting on the sulfur-blood stench on the wind. 

The dwarf and Seeker continued on foot, until a scout appeared. "We found a survivor! A survivor!"

"Who! Is it the Divine?" Cassandra demanded, running for the small post they'd set up.

And there, lying on a cot, was a woman. 

"She stepped _out_ of a rift, Seeker Pentaghast--and then passed out."

"There was a woman behind her," said another of the scouts.

"A woman?" Varric asked.

The scouts shrugged. "A dozen of us saw her--we apparently all saw the same thing. A golden light shaped like a woman."

"What about the Nightingale?" Varric demanded.

"No, it wasn't Sister Leliana. She was at the first checkpoint, out of range when the blast happened."

"Thank the Maker," Cassandra breathed. 

The sky pulsed and the woman on the cot moaned in pain, spine rolling as the mark on her hand flared. A templar threw up his hands immediately to suppress the magic and Cassandra instinctively went for lyrium in the woman's blood.

"She's not a mage," Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes.

Varric scoffed. "Who said she was a mage in the first place?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "I assumed, as will many others, that the rebel mages might have a hand in this."

On the cot, the woman suddenly opened her green eyes. Varric watched her get up. Cassandra didn't seem to notice. He puzzled on this briefly as the Herald of Andraste stood beside him and also....was still lying on the cot. 

And then he seemed to forget about her. The Amarina that walked, vanished silently from his side. The Amarina on the cot remained. How strange.

It would be the middle of the night when a runner burst into the war room. "Lady Seeker, we have an apostate in custody."

Cassandra and Cullen stood up at the table. "Who? Why?" Cassandra demanded.

"It's an elf, Seeker. He says he has studied the Fade extensively and wishes to help."

"What Circle is he from?" Cullen asked sharply.

"He isn't from a Circle. He said he has always been an apostate, Commander." 

Leliana, Cassandra and Cullen all exchanged glances. Leliana got up silently, retreating to the shadows out of sight from the door, wrapping herself in the Fade and drawing her daggers.

"Escort him in," Cassandra allowed. She and Cullen stood at ready. Her Seeker's knack for lyrium shifted, ready to take command of it when the mage stepped inside, should that be necessary. 

Cullen was trying not to make himself...numb. Reaching for that...solidness when one no longer took lyrium apparently caused very sharp and very intense headaches. Cullen broke out in a sweat each time it happened. 

The elf had his hands out in front of him. Another scout was carrying the elf’s staff. Cassandra had somehow been expecting someone more….wild looking. The elf had stern features, almost sharp. His eyes were cool and calm as he studied first her, then Varric, then Cullen. He took two steps into the room and barely paused when he felt Leliana on his left. She was invisible unless one focused on her.

“The Fade is disrupted here,” the elf said, with the air of a bored professor, “wrapping yourself in it hides you from everyone who _isn’t_ a mage that has extensively studied the Fade.”

Leliana dropped the Fade from around her, eyeing the elf.

“What do you want?” Cassandra growled at him. “The guard said you wished to help us.” 

“I happen to be an expert on the Fade—this is my area of primary study. I can help, if you’ll allow it.”

“How?” Cullen said flatly, crossing his arms.

“Where is the survivor?” The elf had a strange way about him. He did not show deference to them but neither did he seem to demand it _from_ them. He seemed to have no fear. An apostate, turning himself in to the Inquisition and commanding to be permitted to meet with a Templar, a Seeker and the Nightingale. The man was either genuine, insane, or had a death wish.

“What do you know about the prisoner?” Cullen raised his eyebrows.

“If she is truly the only survivor and has a glowing magical mark of unknown origin then it can be surmised that the mark might have something to do with her survival. It could even be somehow connected to the Fade. Meaning she might also have some control over it.”

Cassandra glanced to Leliana, who was staring keenly at the elf. The spymaster gave her a small nod.

“You will be supervised, mage. One false move and I will kill you.”

“Agreed,” said the elf and lowered his hands.

“What’s your name?” Leliana asked as she and Cassandra walked on either side of the elf and Cullen walked behind him. 

“Solas.”

“Just Solas?”

“I’m not Dalish, if that’s what you mean.”

“Where were you before you came here?”

“A village to the west, very small—the Gateslog. I was there when the mountain burst and then I saw the Inquisition banners and hoped to help.”

Cullen followed them into the small room they’d secured the prisoner in. She had red hair and green eyes, willowy and strong. She was….well. Pretty, really. She tossed and turned fitfully on her cot. The elf went to her, picking up her palm to examine it.

_Is this the part where the wise old sage tells us this is all a fucking joke, just a fluke and suddenly he fixes it?_

Apparently not, as the elf stared at the Mark for so long that he looked like he might fall in. Until he looked up beside Cullen. The templar followed the elf’s gaze and saw the Herald standing there. Cullen blinked and looked back to the cot, where Amarina was lying. He looked back at the Amarina standing next to him. She was staring at him oddly, like she was worried about something. She touched his arm but he couldn’t really feel it. 

“Amarina,” Solas said quietly, looking right at the Inquisitor who was standing next to Cullen. “Fancy meeting you. I did not realize you were here, at first.”

“Why am I in both?” Amarina asked him quietly.

“Because you’re walking in someone else’s dream. You’re there, in their head but also here, as you are. You dream with incredible focus, Inquisitor.”

“I’m not sure how I….” Amarina looked around the Fade, at her advisers and then at Solas. “Is this your dream?”

“Perhaps pieces are. The others belong to Cassandra—or perhaps, Cullen? In the Fade, all dreamers connect. It’s fascinating, you not being a mage at all and being able to unlock the ability to travel to other dreams.”

“You speak like they are different realms?”

“In a way, they are,” Solas told her, leaving her advisers and gesturing for the Inquisitor to walk with him. “The Fade is capable of incredible potential, mortals can build there and the only limit is their imagination.”

“But mortals don’t go physically to the Fade—only Tevinters ever did that.”

“In human history, yes. But in elven history, it’s different. In the days of Arlathan, when spirits and demons were simply different—not good or evil—the elves learned much from the spirits of the Fade. Today, Rivaini seers and Avvar augors allow spirits to live within them in harmony. But the chantry changed all that for everyone else.”

“Do spirits in the Fade know if the Maker is real?”

“Yes and no,” Solas answered. “Spirits reflect feelings of mortals. If mortals believe, then they believe too. If the mortals they reflect don’t believe…then perhaps they won’t. They are not mirrors of us, Inquisitor, not exactly, but they also are not able to view our world with neutrality.”

“But if they can only embody an emotion, then don’t they lack control?”

“They do now—because the Veil keeps them out. They cannot learn it.”

“So they just find and reflect things that they come across or have an interest in—but they cannot differentiate right from wrong….because those are….mortal attributes and they don’t necessarily apply to spirits?”

Solas smiled at her.

It struck the young noble for a moment, how it softened his gaze. “Will I remember this when I wake, Solas?”

“I believe so, Inquisitor. We shall have to walk the Fade together now, perhaps.”

“Will I feel tired if I run about in the Fade when I’m asleep?”

Solas chuckled. “No, your body will rest but your mind, Inquisitor, will be invigorated.”

He was right.

 

 

 

The Winter Palace came fast upon them. Amarina was fitted in gold and red, to match her advisers. She wasn’t so much worried about the ball itself—she’d been to the palace twice before. So at least it wouldn’t be brand new. She did like how she rather matched Cullen. (Though, of course…so did Leliana and Josephine and Cassandra.)

They had not discussed much that had happened, lately. Sometimes they drank hot wine together on the battlements. They’d narrowly lived through a lot of things. It felt good sometimes just to enjoy the company of someone else. Without having to worry about someone shooting them in the back.

They’d stood side by side during one of his rounds on watch. He took a two hour watch, like everyone else, when he could. She’d brought him spiced wine and some piping hot rolls and warm cheese. He looked so pleased, she thought she’d have saved the world already.

It was…it was nice. It just…felt nice.

In any case, she was a little excited for the ball, honestly. Getting to dance again sounded heavenly. Of course, this time she didn’t get to wear a gown, but her waistcoat was knee-length, elegant and graceful. It was also armored, just in case a fight broke out. It was also interesting seeing the others dressed as well—how it changed them, made each of them act a little different. Solas looked like a prince, glimmering in heavy green robes, embroidered with gold thread in long sheaths and waves. 

She knew there would be those with long memories that would know her association with Thom Rainier. So when she was introduced at court, there were a few whispers about her name.

The Empress looked at her a long moment after her bow. “I look forward to watching you dance. Now that Lord Felott is gone—you were one of his favorite students, Lady Trevelyan.”

“He is terribly missed, Your Majesty,” she said, and meant it. 

“Then we shall be sure to clear the dancefloor for you,” Dutchess Florianne simpered.

The former-princess apparently meant that more seriously than Amarina initially thought. She was summoned back to the ballroom where she was asked to select which song she might like to dance to for the Empress.

“Grand Dutchess Florianne is trying to embarrass you,” Josephine said quietly. “She likely remembers your involvement with Thom Rainier. Be careful. If you don’t believe you can dance perfectly, I would politely decline.”

Amarina felt all the fear at having to perform for the royal court grind to a halt. “She thinks I can’t? Does she think me still seventeen years old?” She sniffed, assuming a look that Solas noticed Josephine using sometimes when she was about to deal with someone difficult. “I’ll perform.” She thought for a moment. “All right….ask the band if they know _Massacre of the Marionettes_.”

“Oh!” Dorian grinned. “I like that one. That’s usually a paired performance, isn’t it?”

“Typically yes but it can be improvised. When it was performed in Starkhaven in 5:Dragon--Lord Baraneth Stark did it alone for the princess there. It was an exceptional performance. It's challenging but possible.”

Across the room, Josephine waved and the herald asked the floor to be cleared.

“If you want a paired performance, you should find a partner,” Solas suggested.

Amarina paused in the midst of taking off her gloves. “There’s no time and no one I’d trust among this nest of vipers on the floor.”

Solas suddenly smiled, looking bemused. “Then perhaps I could help?”

She did a double-take. “What?”

“I watched how you performed back at Skyhold—the style is very reminiscent of an older, elven style that I learned in the Fade.”

“Solas, this is not the time for jokes,” Cassandra said darkly.

“Agreed,” said the elf, offering his hand. 

Amarina stared at him. “Are you sure about this? Solas—we’re in front of the entire court—“

“Do you believe I would volunteer and then humiliate the Inquisition by doing poorly?”

She eyed him. “I….I suppose not.”

“If he can help, then do it,” Cullen urged. “He can also help protect you in case someone tries to snipe you from one of the balconies.”

“All right,” Amarina said, uncertainly taking Solas’ arm.

They walked out to the cleared ballroom together. Amarina executed a perfect curtsy. Solas bowed low over his arm. 

Given that he was an apostate who lived in the woods, Amarina was surprised by how calm he looked. How he took her hand in his own and looked relaxed, even smiled a little. “Do you know the song? _Massacre of the Marionettes_?”

The elf’s blue eyes twinkled, suddenly looking a little mischievous. “No.”

The music was smoky, haunting, it set his skin tingling. Solas was intrigued by how she sank into it immediately. It was a rasping violin at first and then a harpsichord, lilting, soft, uneasy.

Solas saw it in his head, the steps he would take and touched her mind. He attempted to see her as he would in the Fade, perhaps he could urge the steps to her. 

She acknowledged him with a faint, clumsy touch in return. He felt her whisk over his choices and urged them back, full of color. She would not simply accept his lead. They would share it.

It was a touch of absolute focus in her mind. Like turning a key, he handed her his magic and she flooded it with warmth, with color, with the touch and ebb of sound the world made all in sync.

It echoed in her head, she was swimming in the Veil without passing through it.

It told him immediately what to do.

His back straightened, arm stiffened, stopping on his toes. She responded on point, sliding into his arms. Their noses met. Her neck arched and he followed it. 

And then a snap as her hands moved, stiff and choked like a marionette. Her feet stepped and flickered like fireflies as she swept down the ballroom floor. Solas followed, taking her into his arms again as they stepped together. 

She flowed into the music. In the Fade she would be glowing, even without the Anchor. A spirit touched her cheek and she moved with it. She would have cited instinct but that moment was the spirit reaching for her, touching her mind, briefly experiencing Amarina’s feelings. It made her aware of everything around her.

When they sped up, trading spaces around each other’s boots and flashing across the ballroom floor, he watched her eyes close completely. Her coat snapped in the air and his robes hushed it, whispering as the heavy embroidery brushed her waistcoat. 

Solas felt Cole’s interest, honing in on her focus. Felt how he wanted to experience that incredible sense of oneness and clarity. 

_Whatever she likes most, this is what she loves. She is so close to feeling the Fade that spirits almost can't tell the difference. The mark has made it incredibly strong. Like she's one of them again._

One of them?

Solas was pulled under with her. Her glow in the Fade was so bright, he almost couldn't help himself, feeling the music and—

Suddenly Solas heard them. She describe hearing colors when she was learning to fight. This was what she meant. She had not manifested any magic naturally but this had to be connected to the Fade. He could see it all around her. It was not even colors but an aurora. Flexes and pulses like the Fade. But hearing the colors, how she used them to _feel_ the half step, the depth of the flex, it was so pure. Like a spirit.

It was intent, knowledge, confidence, memory. Incredible. Solas realized he'd closed his eyes, feeling her movements, seeing the colors more intently than he ever remembered. Just like Ghilan’nain had once said he would if he could simply relax.

Solas saw passed her, into the Fade, watched the aurora flare with purple and something odd happened around them. They slowed with the music, as if dragging on the beats and then snapped up like someone jerking on the strings of a marionette. He felt her thrill. Whatever had just happened, she wanted it to happen again. When the music flexed and it felt right and it shifted and again—Solas whirled her and her coat snapped around them, staying in the air for an unnaturally long time before suddenly speeding up again. 

When the music stopped, short and stiff, his robes fluttered and she released a breath as they held position—his arm wrapped around her waist and her fingers touching his jaw. And then the court erupted in applause.

When Amarina’s eyes opened, neck beaded with sweat and breathing hard, they were glowing with light in the Fade. 

Solas opened his eyes and the searing Aurora faded. Her green eyes sparkled, her hair burned and she felt so....amazed and wonderful and things she couldn’t describe. Intimate, yes, but not sexual. With lust, desire to obtain what was represented. That bypassed all cultural and linguistic boundaries.

They separated and bowed to the empress before linking arms to walk off the dance floor.

As soon as they were, Amarina came alive, whirling around on Solas. “You were _amazing_! You are one of the finest dance partners I’ve ever had! How did you _do_ that!”

“Practice, Inquisitor—same as you.”

“Who are you practicing with! I want to meet her, I bet she’s incredible.”

“She was,” Solas allowed. “It was a long time ago. I’m glad I still remembered.”

And then Dorian approached and she beamed at him. “Was that you, Dorian! Did you make my clothes move with the music?”

Dorian laughed. “It looked incredibly impressive, you know. And its time magic, so no one really knew what they were looking at.”

Amarina clapped her hands. “You both have to dance with me again tonight. Solas—truly—you are a natural. You’re incredible. I’ve _never_ felt quite like that. It’s like…what I imagine magic must feel like.”

“You’re not far wrong,” Solas agreed and smiled gently.

After that, Amarina was eager to finish this unpleasant business. And when they had, she got Dorian to dance with her. He was perfectly suited for that sort of spirited performance. But it couldn’t top that incredible sense of connection with Solas. He was amazing. 

She tried to focus on that instead of all the dead servants, the dead elves, that were on her hands. 

Cullen was waiting for her by the steps when she got another dance out of Solas. She reached for the commander's hand and smiled a little. 

“I can’t quite perform like Solas or Dorian…but perhaps I could steal you for a moment or two?”

“Of course.”

She walked with him to the balcony. 

“I wondered if you would do all right here,” Cullen said, taking a breath of fresh air. It smelled like roses and crystal grace. “Josephine is beside herself with excitement—I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You seem used to all this?”

She smiled a little. “It was drilled into me, I suppose. And dance….was always my…favorite thing. I…I feel different when I dance.”

“I could tell.”

She glanced at him and straightened a little. He was searching her face, looking a little anxious. “What is it, Cullen?”

“I…” he cleared his throat. “I…can’t really…it was just—watching you with Solas in particular…there was a lot of…chemistry, I guess.”

“Oh.” Amarina blinked, eyes widening as she realized what he was asking. “Oh—well, that’s just the style, Cullen. It’s the style of the dance. It’s Antivan in origin—or maybe elven, according to Solas—it was designed that way. There’s nothing. I mean…I like Solas a lot, um, but…there’s…um…” She felt her hands shake a little. “It’s…” Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe, like this was going to be the moment where he would tell her they couldn’t continue—when they’d hardly even begun. He would disappear like Thom had. And—

Cullen touched her shoulder. “Amarina—I only wanted to be sure. I was worried about you tonight—in general, ha. But I just…wanted to be sure that this is what you wanted. I mean. That. I, uh, was what you….wanted,” he finished awkwardly.

“Yes,” she said faintly. “Yes, I do.” She took his hands. “Dancing is very similar to combat, Cullen. It feels intimate in the same way it does when you fight alongside someone.”

That seemed to make sense to him. “Oh!” And then he smiled again. “Perfect. Then maybe you can teach me a few steps?”

“I would love to.”

Being close to him was heady, breathing in the scent of spice and leather. He smelled _good_. Cullen smelled earthy, warm, rough. 

Even in the carriage later, they sat together. They were a little shy until she leaned against him and then he gently kissed her. 

It flooded her senses and she curled her fingers into his shirt. He kissed down her throat, hands wandering over her sleek waistcoat. He was shaking a little, holding back from opening the buttons when the carriage stopped.

Her heart skipped a beat at the heated darkness in his gaze.

They pretended to wander together through the manor of Bold Horse, pretended he was only escorting her to her room and yet when the moment came that he should have walked away, he hesitated. She touched the door and looked back at him. “Cullen…I…um, would you like to come in for some tea—“

“Yes.” His voice dropped an octave and everything inside of her clenched.

She opened the door and stepped into the room. A servant had lit several candles, filling the room with a dim glow. He followed her in and gently closed the door behind him. The light glinted on his tailored coat, all sleek lines and broad shoulders. 

He reached up slowly, giving her plenty of time to back away, but when he reached her cheek she was keening for his touch. His mouth followed and she pulled him closer, fingers curling into his shirt. She shuddered hard when he moved to her neck, kissing it softly, peppering her skin until he met the seam between shoulder and throat. 

He breathed in and she felt his shoulders tighten and raise, shivers riddled down her spine and she made a barely-there sound when a large palm settled onto her breast. Her nipple hardened against his skin through the fabric. Cullen swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a slow, deep breath. He put his hands around her waist and leaned up a little. “I’m sorry,” he said faintly. “I—got a bit…carried away.”

Her hands went to his jaw, cupped his throat. “Cullen…” she managed softly and drew him back in against her.

He shuddered and kissed her, letting his hands explore her waist, her spine, her ribs, before settling over her breast again. She was very responsive, shaking a little, and her grip on his shoulder was like a vice. Her eyes were glazed and heavy-lidded. He shifted his fingers to the buttons of the coat and looked into her face. She kissed him in response, gently touching his hands, cupping the warm, rough calluses. 

He obliged, fingers uncoupling mother-of-pearl buttons, revealing a thin veil of mesh chain—enough to turn a dagger but not a crossbow. He found the catches in it immediately after he pushed the waistcoat off her shoulders. The mail mesh was warm from her skin, even separated by a cotton shirt. He lifted it off her and let it slide from his hand to the carpet. He watched her expression, her uncertainty, her heated gaze, how her mouth was open a little and her breaths were short and shaky. 

When he stepped towards her, her eyes lifted to his face, unconsciously straightening her spine. Her nipples were hard against the shirt. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said slowly. “You were raised differently from me. How….” Cullen struggled for a moment with the question. “How far have you—have you ever, I mean—“

“No,” Amarina said faintly. “I…couldn’t. And then when I had to return to Ostwick…there was never anyone….”

Cullen looked down, taking another deep breath to try to bring the world back into focus. “Do you want me to go?” He asked gently. 

Amarina tensed and she was already shaking her head slowly, eyes wide and anxious. “N-no….” she choked out. “You….you don’t have to go….”

He nodded a little, eyes getting heavy again. He reached out slowly, gently touching her hair and removing the band of flowers Josephine had put there. Her gaze followed his hands and when he reached for her again, she leaned back just slightly—watching his movements, trying to calculate the steps to this dance.

“It’s all right,” Cullen said softly. “I won’t hurt you.” 

She nodded a little, swallowing hard and watched his fingers go to the buttons on his jacket. She glanced up to meet his eyes and he raised his eyebrows slowly, waiting for her to understand and give her verdict. She swallowed hard and nodded a little.

He opened the buttons slowly, watching her follow the path his fingers made to his waist and how her hand twitched when that action revealed the fabric beneath. He moved his hands up and waited for her to meet his gaze before he shrugged it off. He wore a thin layer of silverite mail, belted tight to him. Her eyes drifted over the metal, the belts and catches at his shoulders, elbows, chest and ribs. And she reached forward, slowly. Her fingers traced the catch at his ribs. She glanced up at him, a questioning glance, a polite _May I, Lord Commander?_ , which sent a jolt right to his cock. He immediately glanced aside to breath and then met her eyes to nod.

She pulled the leather tongue, urging it from its catch and leading it back through the loops. And then she moved up to the one on his chest. She could smell a spicy, earthy scent around him and it made her feel hazy and slow, seeing only the belt loops in complete focus. Everything else had fallen away. 

At least until his mouth touched the side of her neck. She made a soft sound, shaking as she helplessly tilted her head to give him room. Her fingers dug into the mail until he drew her close to him. They were separated only by her thin shirt. Her nipples pressed against the metal loops, shifting against him when he breathed into her ear. She brought her hands up, finding the leather clasps on his arm, then his shoulder. When they had fallen, he switched to the other side of her throat, gently sucking there before kissing up to her ear. He couldn’t help the small smile. So little had her so on edge. The other clasps come loose and then she kissed his mouth, coiling her fingers in the mail and pulling up on it a little. He went with the signal, reaching down to grab the hem and peel it off. He dropped the armored shirt aside, watching her eyes sketch over his chest. She looked a little overwhelmed for a moment and then colored in her cheeks. She reached out slowly, almost cautiously—

Cullen gently took her hand in his before she touched him. “It’s all right.” He squeezed her hand and urged her to sit on the edge of her bed. And then he brought her hand up to his shoulder and released it. 

She nodded and took a deep breath, opening her hand and letting her palm descend on him. She felt the breaths he took, carefully measured and deep, making his chest rise and fall by inches. She shifted onto a knee, raising her other hand to knit with the first, traveling and exploring his warm skin. She was too shy to watch him when she did that, shooting him little glances to make sure he was all right with her touch. Cullen leaned over and gently hooked her calf, bringing it to him to unlace the boot. He felt her touch stutter and then strengthen again. He removed her other boot and then she helped removed his. 

She couldn’t seem to speak yet, voice faint and choked. Cullen touched her hair, gently combing his fingers through it, trying to help her relax. She shivered and swallowed hard. When he finally felt her shift into his palm, then he leaned forward, mouthing at the opposite side of her throat. 

His arousal had been on simmer for hours; ever since she danced for the empress. Watching her with Solas was somehow unsettling, so he focused on her. Watched her body tip and flex and wave, hips shifting, spine arched—it was an image he couldn’t quite get out of his mind. He found her mouth and chased it as she sank into his touch. He followed her to the blankets. 

When he unlaced her trousers, he watched her expression. Watched how she moved into his touch, how she watched his hands disappear, and sliding the leather down over her knees. She had to strangle another soft sound, she was trembling. 

When he moved back up, sliding a palm over her skin, her abdomen tightened and her legs shifted open a little. He watched her thigh tighten to his palm, moving into it, giving him access. The damp heat of her, slick and hot. When he brushed between her thighs, she became very still. She waited with a baited breath until he touched again, probing softly at her entrance and then leaving it. He slid over her folds until he brushed over the bundle of nerves that made her back stiffen. Her hips jerked a little. 

Cullen laid down next to her, just stroking that pearl of sensation. She was overcome quickly, saturated with desire. Cullen breathed in at her throat as she came, sliding his fingers down, gently pressing them inside of her as she came down. She moaned softly. 

He kissed her, taking her voice for himself and felt her hands grab into his shoulders, touch his arms and glide down his abdomen to the laces of his trousers. She started to untie them, fingers clumsy. And then she hesitated when they were undone. Cullen pulled back to give her a reassuring look before removing his trousers. She peered curiously at him, face flushed red. His cock was heavy, thick, jutting up from his thighs. He wrapped his palm around it, touched the head to remind himself to stay in control and then letting go. When he leaned in, she leaned back. Her thighs opened up to him and now Amarina kept his gaze. She looked a little afraid but also heated, wanting. 

His cock slid against her, slicking up against her folds. She felt him take a harsh breath against her shoulder and then he gently pressed to her. He did it in short, shallow thrusts. She looked overwhelmed, heated, eyes blown wide and dark until—

A moan escaped her, spine arching, eyes closing as his cock seated fully inside of her. He rode up against the spot inside of her, the one that made her feel weak and hazy. That made her dig her fingers into the blanket. Her hips arched, trying to take him deeper. Deeper into that damp, slick heat.

He felt….he felt _good_ inside of her. Was she allowed to feel good anymore? Being the only survivor had changed her entire life, becoming Inquisitor had changed her fate. In some ways, it was very liberating, but in others—she felt one title fall away and another take its place. The same dance to a different tune. 

No—not the same dance. Because in the other dance, of all the things she might have had that were similar—Cullen wouldn’t have been there. She tightened around him, heard him grunt and then things seemed to happen in a blur. 

He worked her slowly, deep and thorough, thrusting into her and drawing back almost full-length before giving her the entirety of his cock. The Templar leaned on one arm, sliding down her body with the other hand to stroke her. He was slow, massaging her and feeling her tighten up around him again. He grit his teeth, gathering the threads of his control again before resuming his rhythm. He was afraid she might be too tense to come properly, but she did—not totally relaxed—but enough that she throbbed around him and he pressed deep. He spilled inside of her with a soft, rough sound. 

The Inquisitor’s head tilted back, opening her mouth to breath and staring sightlessly at the top of her canopy bed. And then she wrapped her arms around Cullen’s neck to bring him down to her, welcoming his weight and warmth. She felt…a little overcome with emotions she had difficultly putting into words. She wasn’t upset, just…she was a little teary—but she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the culmination of all the pressure that had been put on her since all this began. Threatened with execution until she could use her Mark to close rifts, struggling as she learned to kill people. Having to think of dance and killing as the same thing so that she could learn to protect herself, so that she could protect others. The disaster of Haven, so many of their people had died—but she lived again. She didn’t deserve that. So many better people had died—and for what? For this stupid mark and Corypheus and religious extremists. It had all been blood and fighting and a lot of threats to her life and then--of all things, Thom Rainier had shown up again…

But then there was Cullen…who had shown her kindness, who was gentle, who let her feel….safe. He let her bring her guard down, knowing he wouldn’t harm her. He’d been through so much, so much pain and death and blood but he still asked her permission to touch her. He didn’t try to overwhelm her. He thought of her first, instead of simply taking his own pleasure.

It was…

It was something she wasn’t sure how to express in words. So she hugged him, trembling a little against him and burying her eyes in his throat. 

“Are you all right?” he murmured, shifting a little.

She nodded against his throat, feeling choked. Her fingers tangled into his blond hair and she let herself relax. She became boneless beneath him and he reached down, grabbing her blankets to pull them up over the two of them. 

“You’ve…been through so much,” she finally managed, looking up at him. “I…but you’re still a good man, Cullen.” Her arms tightened around him. 

Cullen paused, seeming surprised for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her securely and moved onto his side so he could hold her to his chest. “I will do everything I can to keep you safe.”

She curled up smaller in his arms, holding on to him. She could only manage to nod, unable to articulate the sudden rush of protectiveness she felt towards him. 

She would learn the steps of this dance with Corypheus. She would _crush_ him. She would protect her new friends. And she would protect Cullen. She wasn’t going to be like her parents. She would stand beside him for whatever came and they would face it together.

_I will help you. I will protect you, I swear._

 

 

==

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flamenco:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqxJMCQxb_Q
> 
> A compilation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijRrDHeAcTg
> 
> Spirited blend flamenco (very surprised to have found this clip from Dancing with the Stars): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R4D4Ihx4mzw
> 
> Other tangos--because the style is really beautiful to watch and it fits with how Josephine describes Antivan as very exhuberant and passionate.
> 
> Russian Philharmonic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdhTodxH7Gw
> 
> Tango scene in Take the Lead: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lAKlYTQVKY
> 
> Por Uno Cabeza:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gcxv7i02lXc
> 
> Assassin's Tango: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=As0QHcUSGYY
> 
>  
> 
> \--
> 
> This will seem odd but the first time I ever heard of Flamenco dancing was from a Taiwanese Drama called "A Game About Love". I found it at random and ended up watching the whole series. It was a bit cheesy sometimes but interesting.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_AtDj7Oi-s


	9. Piece of the Old Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan sibling reunion.
> 
> Also. Experiencing red lyrium.  
> \--------------  
> This is what I put on repeat as I wrote about red lyrium: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtlyM6GnFOY  
> \---------------
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes, I can.” Amarina lifted her palm, showing the glowing mark to her sister. “There? See?”
> 
> “Marked Lady Herald—unless you gone blind as well as stupid,” Sera snapped.
> 
> “I didn’t ask for your input, elf,” Joanna told her.
> 
> “Eat a dick.”
> 
> “Grow one.”
> 
> Sera started to get up.

The internal chime that had been in her head since she was little. It was the sound she heard out in the sparkling sunlight, looking up into the thick trees and seeing the rays pierce the green foliage in buttery waves. 

She heard the wind, the trees, the water, the air, the spirits. She moved her hands, feeling the rhythm of the world chiming around her. How did it all move together?

She didn’t know. She still didn’t know. But of all the childhood she’d forgotten, the one image that was crystal clear was that view of the green leaves, pierced by sunlight and sinking into that dance.

It was---

“My Lady Inquisitor,” a servant bowed in the doorway to the lavish dining hall in the Bold Horse manor.

Amarina stood, turning to look at the elf. “Yes?”

“You have visitors, my lady. I—“

“Yes, yes, she’ll know who I am.”

Amarina felt her heart skip, watching her sister step through the door. 

Joanna was a radiant beauty. Where Amarina was gentle, Joanna was dangerous. Her eyes were steely blue and bright, her red hair was tied back in a short tail and her skin was a shade darker, like their mother’s had been.

Behind her, her two remaining brothers appeared. One had dark hair like their mother; that was James. Ian had red hair, like their father. At their appearance, Cullen stood up from his chair, as did Cassandra.

“It’s all right, they’re my sister and my brothers,” Amarina said quietly, watching Joanna’s eyebrows quirk in amusement. 

“Bodyguards, have you?”

“Something like that.” Amarina nodded a little to her. “Sister. Ian, James—when did you all arrive?”

“A week ago. We thought it might cause a fuss if we all went to the Winter Ball. How unfortunate we didn’t show. I heard it was quite a spectacle,” Joanna said, sauntering into the room. She looked Amarina up and down. “You’ve changed, haven’t you, baby sister?”

Amarina swallowed hard, eyes flickering to the floor and then back up at her. “I suppose so.”

“You can hold someone’s gaze now, that’s good. Father would be so proud.”

Cassandra lifted an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Cullen.

“Let’s see this Mark of yours?” Joanna said, walking up to her, not missing how Cullen took a step towards them. She looked the commander up and down. “Is this him—your _commander_?” She _winked_.

Varric frowned. Sera’s eyes narrowed.

“Joanna,” Amarina said, a little sharply.

Ian chuckled. “Nice digs, this?” The sibling closest to her in age, wandered over to the fireplace, hands on his hips. He looked at Cassandra. “You’re the Right Hand of the Divine? Seeker Pentaghast, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Paintings don’t do you justice, Seeker.”

“Charmed,” Cassandra responded dryly, rolling her eyes.

“Not by that one, likely,” said James, brushing some imaginary dust off his sleeve. “I’m better at the Game than he is.”

“Piss off.”

“Both of you, shut it,” Joanna told them.

“So what’s the order here?” Sera asked, lounging back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“My brother Ethan, was the eldest. Then Joanna, James, Ian and then myself,” Amarina said. “Ethan was…a Chevalier, or would have been. Joanna went off on her own. James came to Val Royeaux and never really left and Ian—“

“I wanted to join the Templars—happy timing, that,” Ian snorted. “No chance of it now. All that training, wasted.”

“I’d heard you joined the Chantry—I didn’t realize Mother meant the Templars,” Amarina said quietly, watching her three siblings.

Ian shrugged. “Yeah. Well, one of us had to, right? Ethan loved his swords too much, Joanna told everyone who would listen to fuck themselves, James wanted to play the Game and you were…useless at it. So, it was up to me. How noble.”

Amarina took a short breath. “Indeed,” she said, eyes deadening. 

“Speaking of swords—isn’t that Ethan’s?” James asked, nodding to Amarina’s hip.

“It’s _mine_ ,” Amarina said sternly.

Joanna snorted. “Well, got a bit of bite to you now?”

“Hey, fuck you,” Sera announced, sneering at Joanna.

Joanna sneered back. “Fuck _you_.”

“ _Fuck YOU_.”

“All right!” Amarina cut them off, watching Sera and Joanna glower at each other. “Stop. Just tell me what you want, Joanna.”

“Well, we’re coming with you,” Joanna informed her.

“Why?”

“Look, I know these people have told you that you’re _chosen_ or whatever rubbish they think will keep you with them but I want to be sure that you aren’t being strung along. Again.”

Amarina felt a ripple of irritation. Her cheeks heated up, ashamed and embarrassed all at once, knowing she was referencing Thom. “I’m not.”

“You can control the rifts? Truly?” Joanna asked.

“Yes, I can.” Amarina lifted her palm, showing the glowing mark to her sister. “There? See?”

“Marked Lady Herald—unless you gone blind as well as stupid,” Sera snapped.

“I didn’t ask for your input, elf,” Joanna told her.

“Eat a dick.”

“Grow one.”

Sera started to get up.

Amarina raised her hands, stepping between the two of them. “All right. No—stop. No fighting inside. Wait until we’re out of the city first.”

“So who are these people? Your famous companions? Which one’s the Tevinter?” James asked.

“Dorian isn’t down here yet. He’s more of a night owl,” Amarina said quietly. “But, allow me to present the others. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast of Nevarra, Right Hand of the Divine.” Amarina gestured to the other noble and the continued as she named those who were in the room. “Lord Commander Cullen Rutherford, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall; Lord Varric Tethras, author and head of House Tethras. This is Sera of Denerim—“

“Red Jenny,” Sera jeered, still glowering at Joanna.

“ _You’re_ a Red Jenny?” Joanna said, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Heard of us, have you?” Sera simpered at her, smirking.

“More than you might think, Red.”

“Where’s Rainier?” James asking, half-smiling as he crossed his arms. “We heard you found him.”

“It wasn’t my _intention_ to find him,” Amarina said, a little more defensively than she intended, eyes going to the floor. “It was purely coincidence. He’s a Grey Warden now.”

“Really?” James asked, sounding amused. “Learned his lesson, did he? Gave up everything to join the Wardens so he wouldn’t be put to death for betraying the Empress?”

Amarina hesitated. “Ah. He…assumed another name. I was looking for Warden Blackwall. I didn’t know it was him until we found him in the Hinterlands.”

“Oh, I imagine that was awkward,” Joanna said, chuckling.

Amarina’s shoulders curled in a little.

“Is there some reason you are here?” Cassandra asked, bristling a little.

Joanna looked at Cassandra, seeming unimpressed. “I’m speaking to my sister? Do I need to explain myself to _you_?”

Ian chuckled. “Joanna—she _is_ the Right Hand of the Divine.”

“I don’t give a piss if she _is_ the Divine. I’m here to speak to my little sister and ensure that she’s not being used.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Amarina said tersely.

“Where did that glowing Mark come from then?”

“I—I don’t remember,” Amarina said, trailing off a little.

“Exactly. You don’t remember,” Joanna said, putting her hands on her hips. “So if you’ll excuse me, former handmaiden to the Divine or whatever—“

“Joanna!” Amarina cut her off, raising a hand. “Cassandra is my friend. Stop.”

“Your friend would have had you killed if that Mark hadn’t been on you. Sounds like they wanted to use you as a scapegoat,” Joanna replied, glaring openly at Cassandra. 

The Seeker’s eyes narrowed. “Amarina proved her innocence to us. Haven was in chaos after the explosion—“

“Cassandra,” Amarina said, swallowing hard and lifting her chin. “You do not need to explain yourself to Joanna. She wasn’t there, so she won’t understand.”

“Won’t understand?” Joanna said sharply. “That you just _happened_ to be the only survivor of a blast that killed thousands of people, including our parents and Ethan and you _somehow_ walked _out_ of the Fade and you _happened_ to be involved with Thom Rainier in Val Royeaux and you _happen_ to have a magical scar on your hand that can control rifts despite not being a mage—do you know how unlikely all that is?”

“Yes. Which makes it all the more insane. But it is true, Joanna.”

The door opened again and Solas walked through. He paused, looking over the three humans. “We appear to have guests.”

“Oh, is this one of the mage rebels?” Ian asked.

“No,” Solas said flatly. “Neither am I Dalish. Or a city elf. But from your resemblance to the Inquisitor, I would guess that you are relatives of hers?”

“May I present Solas, our expert on the ancient elves and the Fade. He is an incredibly talented mage and my friend,” Amarina said, a little stiffly. 

Joanna looked over Solas. “You’re the one she danced with, yes? Every footman and servant from here to Lydes is talking about the Inquisitor’s heated dance with her elven servant.”

“Yes, the Inquisitor proved herself an exceptional dancer. She merely required a partner. I rendered assistance when it was needed.”

“So you’re not actually her servant?” Joanna asked him, studying him closely. 

Varric snorted. “Yeah, I can’t see Chuckles walking around with a tray like a butler.”

Solas allowed a smile at the dwarf. 

“Only if it had books on it,” Amarina said quietly, chuckling softly.

“And the manor were _flooded_ ,” Sera scoffed.

The door opened again and the others were coming in, slowing when they saw the other Trevelyans. 

Amarina stepped forward to gesture with her hands. “Everyone, these are my siblings. Joanna, James and Ian Trevelyan. And may I present Lord Dorian Pavus of Minrathous. Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimard and Advisor to her Majesty, Empress Celene. And this is Cole.”

There was a flicker in the candlelight as Cole moved next to Joanna. “You remember,” he said softly.

Joanna tensed, jerking back from him a little. Ian touched his dagger. 

“You remember blinding sunshine and summer leaves,” Cole said to Joanna. “Taking her hands and wanting to dance. And then it was gone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Joanna snapped. “Who the hell are you?”

“This is Cole—he is a spirit.”

Ian choked on a disbelieving laugh. “ _What?_ ”

“Have you gone _completely_ mad?” James asked.

Joanna examined the faces of the others and then looked back at Cole. “You’re a spirit? In a body? You let a spirit possess someone? Have you lost all fucking sense, Amarina?”

“No—you don’t understand—“

“I _understand_ that you’ve been taken in by blood mages and charlatans,” Joanna snapped. “You were quiet and silly sometimes, Amarina—but possession? Have—what is—this is worse than I thought.” 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Cole said softly. He reached out to touch Joanna. “I’m real.” 

In a flash, Ian stepped forward, snatching Cole’s arm. A strange warp of air swelled around them—

Varric and Sera jumped up, the mages all jerked away from the Templar, Cassandra drew her sword but it was Cullen who grabbed Ian by the shirt and physically jerked him away from Cole. “I wouldn’t, young man.”

The second Cullen grabbed Ian, James and Joanna each drew daggers. 

“Let him go!” Joanna commanded.

Amarina forced herself between them. “Stop it!” Her left hand pulsed and she raised it in front of her, towards James. “You harm Cullen and I’ll throw all three of you out right _now_.”

Joanna looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “What is _wrong_ with you!”

“I need you to listen to me, Joanna. And more than that, I need you to actually _trust_ me. Do you understand? You’ve heard all these crazy stories about the Inquisition, about me—but you don’t believe them. I need you to comprehend that some of these things are true. No matter what you believe about me—things have happened that can’t be undone. I’ve changed, yes—and many strange things have happened—but that doesn’t mean that I’m lying or that anyone here is lying. For once, Joanna, James, Ian—I need you to trust me. I will tell you everything—but not like this. Not when you mock everything I say or mock the people with me. Not when it can turn into a fight—I don’t want anyone hurt. These are my friends and yes, in the past, I made mistakes. But this time, I need you to trust me.”

“And if we don’t?” Joanna inquired.

“Then leave,” Amarina said simply. “Go back to Ostwick and don’t trouble me anymore.”

Her brothers and sister exchanged looks. Joanna examined her inner circle and then nodded. “All right, then. We’ll prepare to travel with you to Skyhold. You can tell us more on the way.” She sheathed her daggers and nodded at James, who then did the same.

She approached Cullen more carefully, raising her eyebrows at Ian—as the two men were examining each other closely. At his elder sister’s look, Ian let go of the other Templar and stepped away. Joanna didn’t miss how Amarina had a hand on Cullen’s muscled arm. But she couldn’t tell if it was to hold him back or if it was protective. Perhaps both?

Cullen was still bristling, watching Ian closely until Amarina gently squeezed his wrist. “We’ll give the men their marching orders and leave tomorrow? Does that sound all right, Cullen?”

He nodded, relaxing a little at her touch. “I’ll pass it along, Inquisitor.” He touched her spine before he stepped away. 

Joanna raised an eyebrow as the commander left. “Are you _with_ him then?”

Amarina took a deep, patient breath. “Excuse me, everyone—if I might speak with my sister alone?”

Looks were exchanged among them but they got up to file out. Joanna nodded to Ian and James and they left as well. The sisters stood in front of the fireplace for a long moment.

Finally, Amarina brushed her hands on her day dress and lifted her chin. Her voice was quiet, calm and very even. “If you, Ian or James ever threaten one of my friends again, I _will_ fight you. If you ever bring up Thom Rainier again, as a means to discredit everything that I say and do, I will fight you.” She stepped closer to her sister. “And if you _ever_ pull a dagger on Cullen again, I will _kill_ you.” She leaned in. “Do you understand?”

Joanna stared at her, stunned. She looked over her younger sister, seeming confused, bewildered. After a long moment, she carefully nodded. “All right, Amarina. You have my attention.”

Amarina straightened slowly, folding her hands together. “If you didn’t notice, here—I am the Inquisitor. What I say, _goes_. I am glad to hear counsel, I am happy to take suggestions, I am eager for those with more experience than myself. However, if you three are going to come with me, to attempt to humiliate me because you think I’m still the same weak person I was, you will find yourself lacking entertainment.” She took a slow, deep breath, eyes boring into Joanna’s. “I understand that perhaps this is difficult for you to wrap your mind around but things have changed. Now, before you give me another backhanded insult about how I was shy or meek or timid, please understand that I have more important things to worry about than the opinions of one of the lesser noble houses in the Free Marches. I have an Empress who owes me a favor on my right hand and a Queen who owes me a favor, on my left. I work directly with the advisers of the late Divine Justinia. There is a madman named Corypheus who wants to murder me because I somehow got this mark upon my hand. So your paltry concerns do not interest me in the _slightest_ right now. So either tell me what you want in regards to the inheritances from Mother and Father and be gone or sate your curiosity and by all means, come to Skyhold—but don’t trouble me anymore. If you’re angry about it—I don’t care. Take my share. I can’t imagine they left me much. You can have it. I don’t need it anymore. I’ve discovered that I never did need it. That my sense of worth doesn’t come from what you or what any other Trevelyan thinks. My sense of worth comes from me looking at my hands at the end of the day and questioning whether or not I can live with what I’ve done.” Amarina took another deep breath. “Now. I have some business to attend to before I leave for Skyhold. So I must go to Val Royeaux. You may stay here or leave. It doesn’t matter to me. But make your decision, Lady Trevelyan.”

And with that, Amarina turned to walk away.

“You would leave our name behind?” Joanna asked quietly.

Amarina looked back. “Yes,” she said, without hesitation, and then walked out of the room.

Joanna smiled gently at her younger sister’s back. Something like pride flickered into life. _You’ve certainly grown, Amarina._

 

 

Cullen was waiting for her in the hall outside her room. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

Amarina nodded, swallowing hard. She felt a little dizzy, reaching for him. He folded his arms around her, stroking her hair. “Cullen, I want you to know—I don’t care what they think. I’d leave my name behind in an instant before I let them hurt you. I don’t need them. You—you all—are the family I chose.”

She felt his arms tighten a little in surprise and then she buried her eyes in his shoulder.

 

 

 

“What are we doing here?” Sera asked, looking up at a fine manor house.

Amarina pulled down the hood of her nondescript cloak. “This is the house of my dance instructor, Stephano Felott. I want you to help me break in.”

“All right,” Sera shrugged, smiling. “Start teaching you to be sneakish, eh?”

“Yes,” Amarina said quietly. “I want to learn, Sera.”

“I knew I’d corrupt you soon enough.”

“So why am I here?” Dorian asked.

“Moral support. Also, you and Varric know more about lyrium than I do. And Cole can feel things that the rest of us can’t.”

Sera led them through the shadows of the alleyway adjacent to the dance instructor’s house to the back door. “Wouldn’t they have emptied the place by now?” Sera asked, taking out a few pins and starting to tweak the lock.

“Perhaps,” Amarina said quietly. “But I want to check and be sure—without alerting the authorities. Just in case someone in the city really _did_ go after him.”

A few long minutes later, the lock finally clicked. The door swung in and Dorian stepped through first. “There were wards placed here. They’re faded now.”

Amarina entered second. “This place looks untouched. I wonder if no one ever found his family.” She spoke in a whisper, like she might in a chantry or a library. She lit a candle, carrying it with them as they wandered into the manor. All the furniture was covered with plain, white sheets. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. 

“No one’s been in here for a long time, Firefly. That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”

“What are you looking for?” Sera asked.

“A path, a light, a small case,” Cole murmured softly. “A little shell with a world inside, all its own. Music like you heard on another day in summer, glimmering leaves and red hair, hands take yours and you danced with her.”

“Do you mean Joanna?” Amarina asked him as they crept through the silent house, heading up a set of dark, wooden stairs.

“She remembers but you don’t.”

“The Veil is thin here,” Dorian said, sounding curious. “The whole house is tingling on the inside.”

Cole ghosted ahead of them, flicking into doorways and out of them. He cast almost no shadow on the walls from the candle, which Amarina had never noticed until this moment. But then, he was a spirit. Why _would_ he have a shadow? Well…no. Why….would he not? She pushed the thought aside, making a mental note to ask Solas about it later.

Cole stopped in front of a single door. It had a knob of blue glass on it. He stayed still, staring at it. Amarina looked at Dorian before moving next to Cole. She gently touched the spirit’s arm. “Are you all right, Cole?”

“It’s down here,” he said, staring at the blue knob, like it was a little blue world, stuck in a larger universe, alone and only vaguely aware that other knobs existed.

Waiting for someone to reach out, to make contact, to _touch_ \--

Amarina reached out, wrapping her left hand around the glass. She felt a strange wave of… _something_. Energy. Awareness? A flowing bit of consciousness that made her dizzy for a moment. 

_(Don’t!)_

_(It will be too loud!)_

_(Bad idea. This is a bad idea. This—like Bartrand and Blondie and--)_

_(Shitting piss on a fucking nun!)_

The door opened

She was hit with something, like a breeze, a draft. It flooded her eyes and nose and throat and she stepped down. The sounds were louder. More noise, the clang and clunk of instruments, the call of dances done here in the past, the frantic ramblings of Stephano Felott as he struggled to—

_(What is this!)_

 

The basement was well-furnished. The candles lit around them, the white sheets were gone. A man stumbled into the room, rocking back and forth against the wall before going to the harpsichord. He sank down, gliding his fingers over the keys. Manic, manic as he sunk himself into the music. As his fingers simply _found_ the places where the sounds he wanted resided. He rocked more emphatically, forehead almost touching the keys before swinging himself back. The music built around him, around them, drowning them in it.

As it built and built around them.

As the man suddenly realized he wasn’t playing the instrument at all, but it was playing by itself. He smashed his transparent fingers against the keys over and over, trying so hard to effect it. Until finally, he stepped _through_ the world and crossed the Dream, the Fade, and he took the music for his own, made it his own and the music became darker, redder, eating him inside. Eating everything. Eating his soul and his heart and his mind and his sight

Blindly, he played on, sinking only into sound.

Exist in numbness, feel no pain. Feel nothing.

He could not create what he heard, he could only submit to it. Like a scratch in his mind, it would either be satisfied or he must accept it. He became part of the rawness of it, like—

Amarina lost all the feeling in her legs. Cole and Dorian grabbed her, holding her up.

“Amarina!” Dorian demanded, taking the candle from her and putting it on a table. The fine layer of dust on the table coughed grit into the air. 

“You heard it,” Cole said. It wasn’t a question. 

Amarina struggled to regain her footing. Her anchor was flaring, casting a teal glow over all of them. She pointed to a large sheet-covered object. Varric took the candle and held it above him. He crept up to the thing and whisked the sheet aside.

It was an old harpsichord, Orlesian in make but laid out in the Anderfel style. It was carved from exquisite red heartwood and the keys were made of silverite. On the deck of the instrument, sat a small case. 

It was ordinary-looking. It was made of wood and had a small crank on one side. There was a little brass catch on the front of it. Varric pulled it up and opened the lid.

A tiny figure of a dancer popped up, making Varric jerk back. It spun in a slow circle, the crank turned and music began to play. It clunked and scratched out at them—

Sera visibly recoiled. “The fuck is wrong with it!”

Cole clamped his hands to the side of his head. “Turn it off! Stop! Stop it! Don’t listen! You _can’t_ listen!”

“Shut it!” Dorian commanded.

But Varric just stood there like a statue, staring at it.

“Varric!” Sera backed up to the wall.

The dwarf did not respond—

Amarina staggered to it, slapping the lid closed. All of them sagged.

“What the fucking piss was that!” Sera demanded. “What the shit!”

Dorian’s face was ash-grey. “I…I don’t know. I’ve never….” He rocked back and forth, screwing his eyes shut to get his bearing.

“That was…some terrible magic?” Amarina asked weakly, shuddering.

“It’s a piece,” Cole stuttered. “A piece of the old song. The old music that was sundered. That eeked out of the old dreams. But not the younger bits, not the ones the red Templars have. This was part of the whole, the true old dreams, deep underground.”

“Red lyrium?” Varric said quietly, still staring at the little box. “But not regular red lyrium?”

“A piece of the core, like an apple,” Cole told them. “It sings and we all see a different song.”

 _Without lyrium, they’re worse._

The thought flashed through Amarina’s mind, making her furrow her eyebrows. Where had she heard that before? _Had_ she ever heard it before? She didn’t think so. 

Amarina snatched the case up. It was completely unmarked on the outside. She stuffed it into her satchel and started scouring the basement. “Help me look for letters, anything with writing on it that we can take with us. Maybe we’ll find out what that was.”

They gathered up anything that looked like a letter or anything handwritten and took it back to the manor with them.

Amarina spread it out on the table when they had, all of them relating the experience to Solas and Vivienne, and the others.

The box was placed in the center of the table, closed. It looked strangely ominous there.

The Inquisitor poured out all the letters and began to sort through them. Where would he have gotten something so dangerous? It was like having her mind burned inside out.

“Can we hear it?” Leliana asked.

Amarina looked at the other four, hesitating. 

“We cannot fully understand the gravity unless we do,” Solas admitted. “Though we should be very careful. Perhaps, Cole, you might wish to leave?”

“Me too,” Sera said, shaking her head and heading out of the room. Varric pulled his chair away from the table, hunching down in it. Dorian straightened his spine, staring hard at the case as if to brace himself for some feat of strength.

Amarina drew the box to her and waited for everyone to look up and meet her gaze before opening it.

Even prepared for it, the music hit her like a brick—

A blinding pain on the side of the head, leaping up into a standing position, feeling choked, garbled words, moving backwards through the room, flipping up the stairs and leaping faster and faster and faster over land and sky and light and moon—

Until a young man crossed the border into Antiva. He stood in the sunlight and faced dawn. A new land. A new experience. A new purpose.

Capture to a Circle, hope, purpose. Fight for it all. The Vints, the Blight, after the darkspawn touched him and his magic flared choking hot and fast and uncontrollable—fear of the darkness—

He couldn’t breathe. He _couldn’t_ breathe. 

Dead to all the light, begging: _someone notice!_

But no one did. Because they were spirits. And he was dead to mortals _and_ to spirits. 

Except one. One spirit saw him. One spirit saw him and _remembered_.

The spirit gave him sound and breathed color into him. His sword became a wave, the body; a line of grace. The spirit did not want to kill, just to experience _him_. And he understood and followed the spirit back across the Fade. Bright, sharp and biting.

And flashes of light and color and sound, a cheering audience, the thrill as the spirit and man melded together with their shared purpose. 

And then a woman sent him a letter and he thought of a girl with red hair and dark brown eyes.

 _Alexandria_.

A friend, younger than him. Knew each other in the Circle. 

_My harrowing will be soon._

_Will you be all right?_

_I think so. You know…Stephano, you seem…different now. But I can’t quite pin down why._

_After the Blight, we all changed._

And time flashed before her, shifting and molding, a letter stating: _I met a Trevelyan today. I wondered if you might know her?_

And then Solas appeared in front of her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and _shook_ her. “Amarina! Wake up!”

The Inquisitor started badly, suddenly lunging into awareness and taking a ragged gasp for air. She immediately started to cough, choking on the blood in her mouth. 

Cullen was holding her up in a sitting position. Solas had the box snapped shut and contained in a bubble of energy above them. He was staring at it, looking both repulsed and irresistibly curious. Leliana had not moved from the table, but she stared at it, empty-eyed. Varric was rocking a little in his chair. Cassandra was sitting against the wall, wiping sweat off her forehead. 

“Do not open that again…” Josephine said quietly, sounding choked and looking slowly around the broken circle. 

The former-Templar was pale and sweating. He held Amarina up but he looked like he wasn’t quite all together around the eyes. 

Vivienne knelt down next to her. “My darling, are you all right?” 

Amarina’s eyes cleared slowly, taking in the enchanter. 

“You went into some kind of fit, my dear. We all did. Cullen managed to knock the box away from you. You’d frozen up around it, darling. Solas has it contained until we can get a band of iron to lock it with.” 

Amarina watched Vivienne gingerly lifted a kerchief and smeared it over the lower half of her face. It came away soaked in blood.

Amarina looked down. Her nose had covered her mouth, chin and throat in it. Her ears were muted and thick with it. 

Cole appeared on her other side. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help. It was so loud…” His long fingers kneaded into her sleeve before he touched Cullen’s arm and gave him a cup of water. The Templar drank obediently, eyes still far away and haunted.

Vivienne soaked a rag in water before gently letting Amarina clamp it between her teeth to get the liquid from. Sera bounced into view, helping Varric to his feet.

The mark flashed, burning into her palm. It sent a shock up her arm and the scent of sulfur hit her before everything went black.


	10. Between the Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen/Inquisitor
> 
> \--------
> 
> How to Examine Behavior 101
> 
> \--------
> 
> Amarina understood all these things in a matter of seconds. She’d actually had an etiquette lesson that had followed this exact composite skit. Examining the body language, dissecting casual conversation versus carefully chosen words that were made to _sound_ casual but weren’t. It had helped her avoid those who played the Game extensively (and thus, above her comfort level of dealing with) and control what was assumed about her by those who didn’t play as often. 
> 
> This was why introverts tended to be some of the best players of the Game—but sadly, enjoyed it the least.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This time, when Amarina woke up, she was lying in her bed. She stared up at the canopy for a moment until someone said:

“Amarina?”

She looked to her left. Joanna was sitting beside the bed. “Joanna…”

“Yes—are you all right? Rutherford told me what happened. Are you okay?”

“I…” Amarina sat up against the headboard. “I….who’s Alexandria?”

Joanna froze.

Across the room, sitting at a small side table with a chess set between himself and Ian, James jerked. He looked at Joanna, then at Ian, then back at Joanna.

“Why would she know me? Why would she know Trevelyans?” Amarina asked, looking down at her blanket, trying to sift through the things she’d heard and seen. “I saw…things. Things that weren’t…mine. Weren’t me. They were from Stephano.”

“Your….dance instructor?” Ian asked curiously. He looked between Joanna and James.

Joanna took a deep breath and turned in her chair to look at James. She nodded a little to him. In response, her brother stood and picked up his chair. “Come here, Ian.” His younger brother followed him with his own chair and they sat by Amarina’s bed.

Joanna took another deep breath before she looked at Amarina. “We…” Joanna shook herself a little, looking down at the blanket. “We have a sister. Another. Sister.” Joanna looked up to meet her eyes. “Ethan was not the oldest of us. That was Alexandria. She was a mage.”

Amarina started, staring at her. “ _What?!_ ”

“She came into her magic when she was eight. Ethan was her twin brother. I was six and James was five. Ian was two and you had just been born.”

“Holy _shit_ , what!” Ian gaped at Joanna.

“That’s why mother never let any of us join the Chantry until you—because you wouldn’t have recognized her on the off-chance that you might have run into her,” James said quietly. 

“It shamed mother and father to have a mage from our family. And the firstborn, besides,” Joanna said, unable to keep the scowl from her face. “They told Ethan and me that Alexandria was going on a short trip—but she never came back. They told us she died on the road. Ethan was…devastated. He….wasn’t himself after that.” Joanna looked away, staring at her lap. “Then I found the letters from the Ostwick Circle.”

Amarina froze. _Papa, why are you writing to the Ostwick Circle?_

Joanna swallowed hard. “I showed them to Ethan. They’d been hidden from us in father’s study, where we weren’t supposed to be. That was when we found out she’d actually just come into her magic and she was still alive.” 

“Oh Maker,” Ian said softly. “That was when you ran away.”

Joanna scowled to herself. “Yes. I thought I could go find her myself. They found me and brought me home before I could get there, of course. It was, at least, two days ride from home. But I never forgave them for that: for letting us think she was dead.”

Amarina found her voice. “Wait…so…so where is she now?!”

Joanna shook her head. “We don’t know. When the rebellion started, I was in Denerim. I immediately headed back to the Free Marches but between the blight and the rebellion, it was difficult to get passage back across the Waking Sea. And by the time I arrived, the Circle was destroyed. Ethan had returned home by then but…Alexandria hadn’t come home. She likely ran—instead of risking all of us being hurt.”

“And that was why you and Amarina never…got along,” Ian took a shaky breath. “She reminded you of Alexandria?”

“Yes,” Joanna admitted. “That’s why Ethan was so attached to you,” her sister said, looking away. “I hated you for that. I hated that…you reminded me of her. Ethan and I took Alexandria’s death very hard. And there was always a rift between us afterwards. So when you were born…” She trailed off.

“Oh,” Amarina said faintly, eyes going wide. “Oh, Joanna…”

“I’m not proud of it,” Joanna said tersely, glaring at her knees. “But it what it is. I can’t change it now.”

Amarina looked down at her blanket. “…maybe we can?”

“And we should try to find Alexandria,” Ian put in.

Amarina nodded. “I can do that. With the Inquisition—I have a lot of resources at my disposal.”

The four of them were quiet for a moment before Joanna said, “….Ethan wanted you to have his saber. So, no one’s going to take it from you.”

Amarina started, jolting up. “What if she was at the Conclave?!”

The other three didn’t look at each other. Joanna murmured, “We’ll find out. And if she was, then we’ll have a funeral for her. She and Ethan should have stones together at home.”

There was a knock on the door and Cullen poked his head in. “You’re awake,” he breathed and entered the room.

Joanna stood, nodding to her brothers. “Let’s go prepare to leave for Skyhold.”

When they’d filed out, Cullen shut the door and came to her bedside. He sat on the edge. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Amarina answered. “I just…a lot of things have….” She shook her head and reached out, gently touching his sleeve.

“We’ve been looking through the letters you found in Lord Felott’s house. We found one from a merchant named Vicinius—he appeared to be from Tevinter and he seemed to suspect Felott was once a slave there. The letter we found from him was inquiring about his instruction. A few of Leliana’s people were sent to investigate but…Vicinius was already dead. They took any letters from the house—and we found a ledger from a woman called Calpernia who appeared to be buying slaves from him.”

Amarina furrowed her eyebrows. “That doesn’t make sense. Stephano was well-respected and much beloved in Val Royeaux. If this man had tried to accuse him of being an escaped slave, no one here would have taken him seriously. Especially since he was from Tevinter.”

“Then there must have been another reason he was so interested.”

“Wait….” Amarina mused. “Where’s Cole? And Dorian?” She pushed the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Cullen stood up with her and walked beside her as she strode out the door. They found the spirit and the mage in the library.

“You’re awake!” Dorian brightened, looking up from his book.

Cole flickered to her side, lurking by her shoulder. “She told you how she remembered?”

Amarina started, looking at the spirit. “About wanting to dance in the sunlight and then she was gone—“ It fell together. “Oh…it wasn’t my memory at all, was it? It was Joanna remembering Alexandria.”

“Yes,” Cole said quietly. 

“Who’s Alexandria?” Cullen asked.

“I’ll…I’ll tell you in a bit. First,” Amarina waved a hand and shook herself. One thing at a time. “Cole—Dorian, when we were in that house—did you see any of the visions?”

“Not until Varric opened the box,” Dorian said quietly.

“Yes,” Cole said. “He was a man and they made him fade inside. And then a spirit saw him, like Ryhs saw me, and made him real again. But then he didn’t leave. He stayed.”

“Stephano…he was a mage, wasn’t he? He escaped from…somewhere—likely Tevinter, went to Antiva and somehow ended up in the Free Marches. Where he eventually found himself at the Ostwick Circle. Where he met my eldest sister, Alexandria. But then the Blight happened and he was sent away to fight the darkspawn.”

“They touched him, poisoned him inside. He heard too many voices. Too much screaming,” Cole said quietly. 

“And so the Circle made him Tranquil, didn’t they?” 

“Yes.”

“And then a spirit noticed him?”

“And touched his mind. Made him real again.”

“And then stayed.”

“Maker,” Cullen breathed. “He was like Anders. The mage who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall. He had a spirit inside of him.”

“But he wasn’t like Anders,” Amarina murmured. “The spirit was…something else. Not a fighter.”

“It wanted to feel,” Cole told them. “It wanted to _feel_. And Stephano let it. A spirit of grace, the moment of clarity before a blur of movement, that lets you see everything around you all at the same time. It was strong. He was strong. But not strong enough to cross the Fade on his own. He found Stephano and they crossed together. And then he stayed. He stayed. Until _she_ came.”

“She?”

“The Elder One’s. He wanted Templars _and_ mages.”

Amarina and Dorian both gasped softly. 

“Vishante kaffas, of course,” Dorian said, slapping a hand to his forehead. “The Elder One had the Templars when he attacked Haven—but Alexius was working for him with the Venatori. I assumed he was leading them but there must have been another who was going to take command of the mages. Someone out of sight that we wouldn’t know.”

“What if she met Stephano and knew what he was?” Amarina said softly. “Maker…and if she was buying slaves through Vicinius…then it would be nothing to have him inquire about Stephano. And what if _she_ sent him the box?” Amarina staggered a little and grabbed a chair to sit down. “And it drove him and the spirit inside of him mad.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Cullen urged. “We’ll have Leliana look into it and see if we can find out who this woman is. She could be no one, for all we know. But we don’t want to start making assumptions.”

“Right. Right…of course,” Amarina said faintly, dragging a hand over her face. “We’ll talk with Leliana. I have to ask her some things anyway.”

“Wait, did you say you have another sister?” Dorian asked.

“Yes. I…I—Joanna just told me. About a half hour ago. She was taken from us because she was a mage.” Amarina shuddered a little as her voice broke a little. “I didn’t know. I…I want to find her. What if she was at the Conclave? What if—“

“Amarina,” Cullen said, more soothing. “A lot has happened. You should rest. Come on.” 

 

 

 

Leliana stood quietly in the drawing room, simply waiting for Morrigan to look at her.

The witch glanced sidelong, once and then turned. “Yes, spymaster?”

“What do you think of her?”

“Your Inquisitor? She seemed curious about my presence but didn’t question it at the time. She’s a noble, after all. Perhaps she’s even heard of me. After all, even you found me there.”

“More than three years ago,” Leliana allowed. “I didn’t see the boy, then.”

“His name is Keiran,” said Morrigan, gently touching her son’s hair.

Leliana was quiet for a moment and then said, “….is he Victor’s?”

“Yes, he is.” Morrigan peered at Leliana.

Leliana peered back.

A heavy, pregnant silence stretched between them.

“Have you seen Victor?” Morrigan finally asked.

Leliana shook her head. “We tried to find him before the Conclave. He’s disappeared somewhere.”

The witch’s expression didn’t change. She just looked down at Keiran’s dark hair.

“We might be able to find him,” Leliana said, not looking at Morrigan but to the nearby candles, as if to see which ones needed to be replaced. 

“Well, that would certainly be for the best for everyone,” Morrigan said tersely. “It can’t be an accident.”

“Can’t it?” Leliana asked her. “Who’s to say he didn’t run into bandits? Or fall off a cliff?”

Morrigan glanced sidelong at Leliana, looking down her nose. “You are the spymaster, perhaps you should _act_ like one. Do you think all the Grey Wardens in Ferelden have disappeared by _accident_ except for that Rainier? Does that not strike you as strange? That he’s strangely immune to whatever has made all the others vanish.”

Leliana bristled a little but didn’t press the issue. “We’ll look into again. I found out everything I could from Rainier but there have been no other Grey Wardens to ask.”

“Then it would behoove you to act, wouldn’t it?” Morrigan said, a little sharply.

“Mother,” Keiran rasped. He touched her hand. “Everyone is scared.”

Leliana blinked at the child.

Morrigan’s expression softened and combed her fingers through his hair again. “I know, little man. I know.” She took a deep breath. “As promised, I will assist the Inquisition in any way that I can, bard. If we can find Warden Cousland in the process that would be to the benefit of all.” 

Leliana blinked again. _Was that…almost an apology?_ She stared at her for a moment and then said, “I see. Thank you. I’ll keep you updated.” She left the room.

“I like her, mother,” said Keiran, once Leliana was gone.

“She’s very silly,” Morrigan huffed.

“But she knows so many songs.”

 

 

 

Their soldiers had left the previous day, the day they’d initially intended to leave. Two days after that, the inner circle, the advisers, the Inquisitor and the other Trevelyans all left for Skyhold. Leliana took down all the information they’d gathered and had her people working on finding Alexandria and Calpernia. 

A week of travel on the road found them back at the fortress. Amarina was glad to see its crumbling towers again. It felt more like home than any other place had. 

A human woman ran up to Varric. She was rough-looking, with raggedly cut hair and a big, beaming smile. “Varric!” She sang out and grabbed the dwarf.

“Hawke! When did you get here!”

“About a week ago—they told me you all were in Halamshiral fucking around with nobles and shit,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve been drinking all week waiting. I’m afraid I’ve run up a tab for you.”

Varric burst out laughing. “You would!”

“Don’t you get cheap on me now—“ and then she did a double-take. “Cullen?”

Cullen couldn’t help but smile. “Hawke. It’s good to see you still in one piece.”

She sauntered up to him, wiping her hands on her trousers before offering him one to shake. “It’s so good to see you! You’re still alive!” She shook his hand enthusiastically. 

Amarina saw right away how Hawke’s eyes lingered on him, turning warm and…a little more gentle. 

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“You seem happier now,” she said, a little quieter. “I know the last time we saw each other…things were….well. Bad.”

“Yes, but things have….changed. Evened out, perhaps. The Inquisition was a good choice for me.”

“Kirkwall misses you but I understand.” Her eyes twinkled. “But it is good to see you again. You even shaved your beard. It’s weird to see you without it.”

Cullen opened his mouth to respond and then…didn’t. For a moment, he and Hawke stood together and awkwardly examined each other. Then Cullen seemed to shake himself. “Oh, this is the Inquisitor, Lady Trevelyan.” He glanced down to Amarina, smiling a little uncertainly but placed his full palm inbetween her shoulder blades to gently urge her forward. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Hawke. I am Amarina Trevelyan of Ostwick,” Amarina said, inclining her head to Hawke politely. 

“You’re the Inquisitor, huh?” said Hawke, looking her over. “Well, I’m Madeline Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. Though, I don’t use the title so much anymore.”

Amarina blinked at the slight edge that crept into the Champion’s voice. And then suddenly realized she could still feel Cullen’s hand on her spine. His grip was restrained, tensing into her cloak. The commander had turned his body slightly towards Amarina. 

In her head, Amarina stepped outside of herself, observing the body language as if she were examining strangers. She’d learned the process in Val Royeaux, as had the rest of her siblings (well…not all of them, she supposed). 

When Hawke had rushed up to meet Cullen, she stood close to him, facing him. She used the handshake to step in closer. Her eyes had softened—indicating affection, commenting on his appearance, as well as relief that he was still alive. And she’d studied him closely, taking a slow, deep breath through her nose. A way that manic and intense people sometimes settled their nerves that also let her breathe the scent of leather from Cullen’s armor. It was an unconscious movement. People did this when they were feeling flustered, anxious or frazzled and then got to a comfortable place very suddenly. She sunk into whatever feelings she associated with Cullen. They were obviously good ones. 

Cullen had faced the Champion but, after the handshake had turned himself away just slightly, looking at Hawke more sidelong than not. Something in his expression had flickered when Hawke spoke to him, suddenly subconsciously realizing the same thing that Amarina had. He had let his hand fall but kept his posture friendly, extremely aware of Amarina standing next to him. She had watched Cullen notice that Hawke had mentioned his appearance right away, indicating that though it had been almost five years since she’d seen him—that she still remembered. That it was something she noticed about him and liked it. Whatever his association with Hawke had been in Kirkwall—it had been friendly, maybe even warm, but it had not really crossed into anything romantic. Perhaps the potential had been there in Kirkwall but it hadn’t happened. 

And when the silence stretched too long, as he didn’t seem to respond as Hawke had expected—the champion realized something had changed. And then Cullen urged the Inquisitor forward, and now was keeping his hand on her shoulder and turned his body towards her own. A signal of closeness, warmth, familiarity. That would be the most important one, her professor would have mused. Familiarity. That despite having known Hawke longer, Cullen had never stood with her how he was with Amarina. 

Hawke’s posture instantly changed, unconsciously understanding this as well. Crossing her arms, eyes examining the Inquisitor and all the warmth dropped from her eyes. Her gaze became harder, examining her, speaking crisply—almost rudely but noticing the unspoken signals, realizing there was someone else with Cullen’s attention and that…

Amarina watched Hawke’s eyes gentle, lowering. “Sorry,” said the Champion. “My mom would slap me upside the head. That sounded really rude.” Her voice strengthened, coming up with a line on the spot but schooling her features, so her emotions wouldn’t come through. “You and the Inquisition looking after Cullen for us now?”

_Are you with Cullen? Are you looking after the idiot?_

“Yes,” Amarina said gently. “I suppose we are.” She smiled warmly at Madeline. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t spend all his time looking at armor or aligning trebuchets.”

_Yes, I am._

Hawke laughed. “Glad to see some shit hasn’t changed! Good on you, Quizzers.” Her voice became friendly, warm. And then broke eye contact, wiping her hands on her trousers again before glancing up at Cullen. “Well! I’ll let you all get settled before we talk about Corypheus. Motherfucker coming back from the dead. How embarrassing.” Hawke chuckled to herself. “I’ll be drinking with Varric. Per usual, right?”

_You gave me an out and I will gracefully take it. Thanks. No hard feelings._

“Yes, it always was,” Cullen said kindly, grip in Amarina’s cloak relaxing. 

_Thank you._

Amarina understood all these things in a matter of seconds. She’d actually had an etiquette lesson that had followed this exact composite skit. Examining the body language, dissecting casual conversation versus carefully chosen words that were made to _sound_ casual but weren’t. It had helped her avoid those who played the Game extensively (and thus, above her comfort level of dealing with) and control what was assumed about her by those who didn’t play as often. 

This was why introverts tended to be some of the best players of the Game—but sadly, enjoyed it the least. But pair one with a conversationalist like Josephine and one could likely find out a great deal. It never hurt to be on the lookout for a complementary player.

Hawke walked away, shoving at Varric’s shoulder, chuckling loudly at some silly joke. 

Amarina looked up at Cullen. “Are you all right?”

Cullen looked furtively away, letting his hand slide down her spine and away as they started inside the castle. “Yes, I just…Hawke and I…were friends, in Kirkwall. Never anything more than that but, uh…well.”

“Perhaps if things were different, it might have turned out another way?” Amarina asked, looking only curious, not accusing at all.

Cullen shifted awkwardly, not looking at her as they entered the main hall. “Well…I…it…”

“Cullen, it’s all right,” Amarina said, curling her arm around his as she stepped towards her tower. 

He didn’t try to resist, just opened the door for her. “I—I don’t want any awkwardness, I suppose…”

“I understood,” she said softly, closing the door behind them. “Don’t worry.” She leaned up, sliding a hand up to his collar and urging him down to kiss her. 

She felt his breath against her mouth, his hands moving under her cloak to pull her against him. She shuddered when he moved to her throat, let her fingers run up into his hair as she almost immediately wanted to sink into the heady warmth from him. 

He pinned her up against the wall of the stairs, breathing in at her throat, sliding his arms tighter around her. Her thighs opened, letting him press his knee between them, grinding up into her. She made a soft sound, fingers tangling into his wavy hair. Her hips jerked, rubbing up against him as his thigh rocked into her—hot and tight and sliding with the sound of leather. 

Arousal spiked in her and then gentled a little, enough that she breathed out quickly and managed, “We can…”

He kissed her mouth again, nodding a little when he broke apart and putting a hand on her spine again. They went upstairs but at the second door, he seemed overcome. Grabbing her, pinning her against the wooden door, watching her head tilt back and how her eyes became hooded and dark. She arched into him when he moved against her. He kissed her, hard and passionate, hands going to her hips and pulling her into him. Pressing closer, hotter, rubbing until Amarina took a shuddery breath and grabbed the doorknob. They nearly fell through it when the door swung open. 

Cullen grabbed her up, kicking the door closed behind him and latching it, then grabbing her at the hips again. He kissed her mouth, feeling something heavy and primal respond when she moved into his touch. When she let him control her movements. His hands seemed to move on their own as he pressed her against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He got her cloak unhooked and pushed it off, hands grabbing into her riding gear, pulling the laces loose on the top chest piece. He unhooked the catches and pushed the armor off of her, letting it fall to the steps beside them. He felt her nipple harden against his glove and she groaned softly into his mouth.

Cullen grabbed her, staggering up the stairs. He let her get her feet again at the top, but he immediately maneuvered her towards the bed. She went willingly, fingers pulling at the laces of her shirt. It opened in a V, exposing the swell of her breasts. Cullen pulled his gloves off and instantly pushed his hands under the linen. Her skin was warm from the armor, his hands were still chilled. He felt her shiver against him, pulling the shirt off before palming her bared breast. 

Her hands curled into his cloak, pulling the clasps and he sat up on his knees to remove it. She leaned up into him, helping with the catches in his armor. He had to get up to completely remove it. When he did she looked to her belt, uncoiling it and unknotting the laces of her trousers and then her boots so she could get them off. He did the same. Cullen slid a hand under her thigh when he finished first, helping urge her trousers off the rest of the way and then kneeling between her thighs. She was already wet. He could tell. He slid a hand down to make sure. Her gasp would have told him enough, even if her slick heat hadn’t. She still made those delicious little sounds, not accustomed to being touched so intimately, not used to _wanting_ so much. It intensified that heavy feeling in his head, hearing her cry out faintly as she rocked her hips with him.

The first wave crested over her. The inquisitor’s hips jerked, spine arching up into him. Her fingernails clawed into his back, pulling herself up against him. He waited until her death grip eased, lowering back down to the bed. Cullen captured her lips, feeling her press closer. Her thighs opened for him and he braced his weight on his left palm and reached down with his right. He took himself in hand, had to, to press into her. She was so _tight_. 

She arched into the bed, grabbing into her blanket. Her red hair was sticking to the side of her throat, tempting, flushed. The commander leaned forward, hooking her under the knees. She gasped as he shifted inside of her, gently spreading her wide to him, bracing her hips on his knees. When he leaned down to her, he shifted again pressing down and into her when he thrust. She made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry. He went deep, groaning against her ear. “You are so tight,” he managed, voice low and husky. He felt her pulse around him.

And then he started again, thrusting down into her hard, all the way in and all the way out. Snapping his hips to pound into her. She cried out again before strangling it into silence. She was still too tense to come properly but Cullen was patient. He’d get her there eventually, once she was more comfortable with everything. It—

A moan was torn out of her, starting in her belly and rising with the wave of sensation. It went higher and higher until it crested. She flexed, shuddering around him. Cullen jerked, flushed and sweating, grabbing into her hips. He growled against her ear and then groaned, rough and low. He pinned her down, holding her still as he poured into her core. 

Amarina pulled Cullen down to her, stroking his hair. She’d learned a lot in Halamshiral. This was simpler, something that wasn’t sadness. For now, it was nice just to focus on him. On running her fingers through Cullen’s hair, feeling his breathing slow against her shoulder. On how his weight was warm and secure. He must have been heavy—but she didn’t really feel it. It felt…good, in a strange way. She was pinned under him securely. It made her feel…something she wasn’t sure how to put into words. Just something warm and safe. Something to let them both escape everything outside for a little while.


	11. Dark Words, Dark Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever--I'm in a financial rough spot so I'm constantly working and just trying to endure it out. And then sometimes I have to take a break and switch to another fandom (my Bioshock piece "Variable Mannequin"). But anyway, the point was, I'm trying to come back to these stories as I can. I miss them.
> 
> honestly, writing is the thing I seem to still enjoy. And I wanted to write about the Trevelyan kiddies too.
> 
> Grizzly Hills: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mpyInx0ldfo&t=29s  
> \---------------------------
> 
> “In a way,” Solas told her with that mysterious smile, “can you guess?”
> 
> “The Fade?” She answered and laughed. “I believe that’s usually a good guess to go with when it comes to you.”  
> \----------------------------

Amarina may not have been a perfect player but, at its core, the Game did intrigue her. And much could be found if one discovered the right connections. In this, Vivienne was a most excellent find and keeping her with the Inquisition, thus far, had not been hard. Amarina and Josephine were wise to Vivienne’s council on political matters. This went double now that they had the Empress of Orlais owing them a favor. 

It was a relief to James Trevelyan that Amarina had had that good sense. And he was already getting to know Lady Josephine, who was practically perfect in every way. Almost. As a shadow Red Jenny, Joanna was well acquainted with the shady pasts of several noble families now. This turned out to be a larger boon than she expected. Joanna didn’t really care about the Game but she was good for details. James was the real player and he was the one who advised Joanna on Madame Vivienne’s presence. 

“You are the eldest Trevelyan now,” James had told her. “It would be more polite for you to talk to her and I think you should. She might be able to help us find Alexandria. Also, she’s legend to the Game.” James raised a cautionary hand. “I would really like to see if she would talk about these people around Amarina.”

“Yes….I would like to know what Lady Iron thinks of this mess.”

“Also, that Solas claiming that flamenco is an elven style,” James said, rubbing his close-shaved beard.

Joanna shrugged. “I can’t say I’d know the difference much, Jamie.”

“Well, I went to Antiva when I was learning the language. Not saying it couldn’t be true, just that I’ve never heard such a thing. And it occurred to me,” James went on, gesturing to his elder sister with his pipe, “that no one here seems to know _anything_ about the elf, a wandering apostate with a creepy amount of knowledge about the Fade. So, I’m not sure how well Amarina has nurtured her relationship with Madame de Fer but I’d like to get some kind of read on her.”

“I may be the eldest, but you were the best at the Game.” 

“Yes, but, for me to approach the Grand Enchanter, alone, could be interpreted a different way. I do not want to be perceived as moving behind your back,” James raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand? Because you’re the eldest, not me. You can easily present yourself to her as the ‘Lady of House Trevelyan’ and inquire after your younger sister. You going to Madame de Fer would be less likely to be construed against us in some way. Amarina was right. Celene is now indebted to her, personally. Our sister. If I go to Lady Iron alone, it could be perceived as me moving either against you, the heir of our House, or, if it turns out that Lady Iron’s relations with her are strained, then it might be perceived as a move against Amarina, the Inquisitor. But for you, there’s no sure motive except familial concern.”

“All right,” Joanna allowed, wise enough to heed her younger brother on something he clearly understood more about. “Do I have to go alone? I don’t really trust her.”

“No, in fact, I’d prefer to go with you. Just to observe--body language is very important--and, if it becomes appropriate, I can ask questions too. It might take us more than one meeting though. It’s going to depend on Lady Iron’s relationship with Amarina, likely. And given everything that’s happened, who knows how she’s done on that front. And I doubt we could just ask Amarina and expect an honest answer. She’s expecting us to just mock her and it makes her defensive. She’s learning a lot with these people but us being here shook that stability a little.” James lit his pipe. “So, perhaps an informal tea. Me, you, Lady Iron and her handmaiden, if she has one. Just to chat about how our little sister has done. And, with any luck, that will lead into her companions.”

“Ah, that’s what you’re after,” Joanna smiled a little, watching him, looking pleased. “All this because the elf said one strange thing?”

James Trevelyan looked down at the bowl of his charred pipe. “If you were about to break into a house and suddenly, a shadow of a man appeared on the wall—would you continue or would you pause?”

“Is that the same? You think the elf is up to something that could destroy this whole…whatever it is?” Joanna’s eyebrows went up, pouring more wine.

"Maybe not. But for him to just _coincidentally_ be in the area? I don't buy that. Something about him--"

There was a soft knock before Ian poked his head into the room, his ginger beard shadowed his roguish features and twinkling green eyes. James waved him in and so the youngest brother entered. He ran his fingers through his hair. “This castle is interesting. And Rutherford let me join in on their drills this morning. He doesn’t seem so bad, you know?”

“We were just talking about Lady Iron,” Joanna informed him.

“Oh,” Ian recognized, pointing at James. “About her meeting with the Lady? Yeah, yeah, okay—you gonna do it?” He braced his thumbs in his belt loops.

“Sure, yeah—James will come with me to make sure I don’t tell her piss off or whatever--cause I'll have to apologize for Halamshiral, no doubt,” Joanna waved a hand. “So have you been watching any of these people? James is concerned about the elven mage, Solas.”

“The one she cut the ballroom with? Yeah—he is kinda weird.”

“It’s more than that,” James said, frowning. “Something I can’t quite pin down, I guess. So—we, as a family, are not saying the Inquisitor’s mage adviser is weird. We simply would like to know more about them. All of them. But mostly Solas. But Lady Iron doesn’t need to know if we’re concerned about someone in particular. So ask about Mari’s entire inner circle. Lady Iron is good at this game. And if I’ve noticed something odd, then I want to know if she sees anything too. She’s far better connected than us. This isn’t going to be us trying to interrogate her—that’s hilarious. Us interrogate Lady Iron? Yeah right.” James poured more wine for himself and for Ian. “Just a conversation. Just to see where she stands in the Inquisition, how much Amarina has worked with her, what she thinks of her as a leader, things like that. All things easy to explain away for the head of House Trevelyan, curious about this organization her little sister has had a hand in building.”

Ian looked between them. “Did you guys know that Madeline Hawke is here? The Champion of Kirkwall is _here._ I wonder if I could talk to her….”

“You should instead try talking to Lady Pentaghast.” James pointed out, almost sternly.

“But maybe don’t offer to bang her first thing,” Joanna advised Ian, snorting. 

“But what if Hawke leaves—“

“Ian, no time for that,” James said. “We need to get to know who these people are. The fate of our House may depend on it.”

“The Fate of our House? Then why the hell are you trusting me to talk to nobles? Now we’re famous enough, right?” Ian suggested, chuckling. 

“Yes, and if Amarina fails then we’ll have _failed_ famously.” James pointed at his siblings. “But if she succeeds….Queen of Fereldan on one hand, Empress of Orlais on the other.”

Joanna watched him closely. She’d never really seen James like this before. Their interests didn’t really cross and so she’d never paid attention to his ‘studies’, or whatever he called them. But suddenly, their family was thrust into the limelight, into the eye of every noble family in Thedas. 

“No matter what our personal opinions are,” James said musingly, “we are presented with an incredible opportunity here. And I believe that the best thing for us, would be to unite behind her. Privately, maybe not—we’ll still argue and she’s probably not going to like it if we start looking into her new friends. But, someone has to—someone besides the Nightingale.” The young man studied the deep red of his wine. James had never dealt with her directly but her legacy still haunted every crown and throne in Thedas. 

“You want us to join the Inquisition?” Ian stared at him.

“Not necessarily,” James replied. “Right now, plans have to be fluid. Right now, we are united behind our sister, our family. Anything further will depend on what we find out about her companions.” 

The three Trevelyans met eyes around the room. 

“All right,” Joanna decided. “Let’s do it.” 

 

 

So now, here Joanna was. James was with her. Both of them were dressed in new clothes. Joanna wore an armored surcoat of green with silver horses for House Trevelyan. James wore a simple silver shirt with his best armored vest, embroidered with dark green leaves. Madame de Fer had been given the better part of a wing for herself and her servants (four had accompanied her from the Capital) and he and Joanna waited in a room that now appeared to be a small library. Squashy warm chairs had been arranged and a table set with platters of lemon cakes, small sandwiches and pastries. Spiced wine kept warm in thick ceramic urns. They sampled all, neither surprised to be kept waiting. When Lady Iron entered, James and Joanna stood to bow. 

She eyed them with her expressionless gaze and then smiled to gesture to the tea as she sat on her chaise. “My Lady Trevelyan, I didn’t expect a visit from you. Is there something I can assist with?”

“First and foremost, my lady, I wanted to apologize for the disturbance caused by myself and my brothers in Halamshiral. We were angry and we were concerned and, at times, the Marcher in us can make us act without thought.”

“Oh, not to worry, my dears. She’s your sister,” Vivienne said, pouring wine instead of tea. “Any concerned sibling might have done the same.”

“I hope that we can dismiss that ugly business and start again. I haven’t seen my youngest sister in several years and last I saw her, she was a bit naïve. Enough that I hunted her down in Halamshiral instead of simply going to Skyhold to wait. But I’m glad I found her sooner. She’s changed a great deal.”

“I only knew of her instructor, Lord Felott. Lovely man, he and his students often performed for the Empress. Maker guide his steps. I attended his service in the Market. All of Val Royeaux was there. So Lady Inquisitor must have been too, I suppose. But of course, I never knew her then.”

“Pity that,” James said quietly, smiling a little. “It’s a small world, but that would have been almost too lucky.”

“Even I must agree, Lord Trevelyan,” Vivienne graciously allowed, tittering. “I was delighted to meet her at my salon. Even when a foolish man threatened her, with Lady Pentaghast and Commander Cullen standing not ten feet from her. Silly man, they nearly came to blows with, not only the Herald but two of the most reknowned fighters in Thedas.” 

James watched Vivienne. The woman’s eyes were steady, focused. Lady Iron was observing Joanna _very_ closely. "Fortunately, I intervened,” the Mistress went on. “And you know, I offered to let her kill him. But she wasn’t so grim as that.”

Joanna looked intrigued. “What did she have you do? Let him go?”

“She told me to do as I saw fit. He was my guest, after all, and she was unharmed. It was merciful, fair--though I imagine had Cassandra or Cullen come to harm, she might have spoken differently. I dispelled him from the estate. His family will do the rest. They’re very devout.” Vivienne took a neat bite of a lemon cake. 

Joanna felt the strange pause in the air but wasn’t sure what it meant. She glanced at James, seated just beside her. 

A man at Vivienne’s own party, which she no doubt told people that the Herald of Andraste would be coming to, foolishly challenges Amarina in front of everyone…..likely knowing that Lady Vivienne invited the Herald and wanted to ally herself with the Inquisition. The last real leader of the loyal mages of Thedas. So the man tries to screw with it and gets disowned, from the sounds of it. While Vivienne made it a story about their sister, the underlying message was clear. Vivienne de Fer was dangerous and to anyone against her chosen allies, she was also dangerous. But James already knew that. It wasn’t so severe as it might have sounded, she was just quietly letting them know. It was actually rather polite. She cut right to the chase, already suspecting that they were there for information. And how they conducted themselves would be important in the following few minutes. 

And so he met her dark eyes when he nodded. “Then well-played. The Herald was touted as an agent of good but the last I saw her, her work with a sword wasn’t quite as graceful as her work with a paintbrush.” He smiled indulgently at Lady Vivienne. _We are not here to challenge, just information._

Very slightly, her focus shifted. It was difficult to even explain what tipped James off but he saw it, regardless. Very slightly, Madame de Fer’s focus went from Joanna to him. “I have heard that all the Trevelyan children studied in Orlais.”

“Our mother insisted,” Joanna answered. “All of us did, until rumors started of the Fifth Blight.”

“Except your eldest sister, I’m told. Alexandria Trevelyan.”

“Yes, we are hoping to find her, if possible. The Inquisition has more eyes than we could ever hope to.”

“And as the Inquisitor’s influence spreads, so does her work, my dear.” Vivienne agreed.

James took a sip of wine and changed his approach. “As it has been several years since we’ve seen or spoken with our younger sister, we come to you because we trust your name and your position. You’ve pledged Orlais’ loyal mages to our sister. You’ve pledged yourself and your connections to the Inquisition. I studied in Orlais, as you know, my lady. I know who you are and I respect you. You are far more powerful and likely, wealthier, without the likes of us. I presume that you would not risk so much if you didn’t believe the Inquisition was the winning side.”

“I do believe that this is the best way to end the violence,” Vivienne agreed, smiling gently at his admission, thoughtful. “And the Inquisitor has some interesting views on how the Chantry might change.” _And those who interfere will be swiftly dealt with._

“You seem logical and not given over to sympathy. Every leader needs someone like that. You advised the Empress. Now you advise the Inquisitor. And, incredibly, the empress now owes the Inquisition a favor. So, right now, the Inquisition is a fairly good place to be. What concerns us, as not only her siblings but also for the honor of our House, is that other people around her may not be as logical or clear-headed as you, my lady.”

“Well, that is certainly true,” Vivienne laughed lightly. 

“For example, our brother, Ian, trained as a Templar. He tells us that the creature Cole is some sort of…spirit abomination?”

Vivienne scowled, sitting up. “Yes,” she grunted. “Against my advice, the Inquisitor allowed the thing to stay and gave it run of the keep, thanks to Solas.” 

“She always had a gentle heart and he casts a gentle figure,” James said, shaking his head sadly. “How did the creature come to be here?” 

The Enchanter told them.

 _Ah, she doesn’t like the boy or Solas._

Not that that was any big secret. Leliana and Cassandra had told them as much. James simply wished to hear of it in Vivienne’s words. As the Hands of the Divine, James didn’t doubt the intelligence of the spymaster and the Seeker but he did doubt their faith in the Trevelyan siblings. They definitely didn’t trust the three of them; which, also didn’t surprise James. Joanna’s antagonizing had come back around to bite them. These people thought Amarina was some kind of hero. They only saw their silly sister, head in the clouds and her nose in a book.

“This Solas sounds….rather dangerous to have around. Do you know anything about him?”

“No,” Vivienne mused, eyeing the two of them. “No one does, actually. Your younger brother, the Templar, he might be able to better articulate the danger of one who has so _much_ knowledge but so little personal history.”

James allowed some carefully cautious surprise to show Vivienne. “What about Leliana? She was a known bard from Orlais and she’s your spymaster. Doesn’t she know everything?”

“One would suppose,” Vivienne said, picking up a sugar cube and letting it melt into some hot wine. “But she found nothing. The village he claimed to be from is not there and hasn’t been for a few hundred years, according to my personal reports. He claims to be entirely self-taught and, to his credit, he is very powerful.”

“Could he have changed his name like Rainier did?” Joanna asked the two of them, sipping more spiced wine. “Maybe he’s running from something.”

“The Inquisitor believes that we have need of him, unfortunately. She will not lot allow those of us more level-headed to throw him out.”

James looked thoughtful, rubbing his jawline. “I tell you the truth, Madame Vivienne: we do plan to unite our House behind the Inquisitor. And while we are getting to know her again, and she us, I want to ensure that she has a solid foundation to fall back upon. I trust the intentions of the Inquisition because I don’t believe _you_ would risk so much if you didn’t think this was the winning side. However, when I studied in Val Royeaux, I heard a lot about the Nightingale. And I think any reasonable person, acquainted with her work as we are, would hesitate to trust her at her word.”

“If only more could see that, Lord Trevelyan. No intelligent person would trust Sister Leliana. You wish to confirm some of these things for yourselves?”

Joanna nodded slowly. “We do, Madame Vivienne.”

“We simply want the truth,” James added.

“As do we all.” The corner of Vivienne’s full lips flicked up like a smile for a split second and then it was gone. “Do tell me if I can be of any assistance—sometimes we all need to be protected from ourselves.”

“I thank you for your generosity, my lady,” James replied. 

“Please speak with me if there’s anything our House might do for you in return for this kindness,” Joanna expressed. “In the meantime, I will formally pledge House Trevelyan to the Inquisition, so please consider us at your service.”

“So much talent in one place, I’d rather not leave just yet,” James added, smiling crooked and knowing. His darker gaze, his brown hair made him stand out among all his red-headed siblings. He always dressed in warm colors to bring it out. Earthy, solid colors for a matter involving the official position of House Trevelyan. 

Vivienne tittered. “Then do make sure that you come to my salon at the end of the week.” 

The rest flowed easily for James—Vivienne was very intelligent but not without a sense of humor. It was dry and somewhat severe but very funny. It was easy for him to exaggerate a touch, wanting Vivienne to see them as well-meaning but less experienced (which was true but he also didn’t want to invite any scrutiny from Madame Vivienne just yet). Openly conceding to her better connections in the Game, formally apologizing for their rash behavior—

And then Joanna asked about Rutherford because, of course she did (she'd been enthralled with all aspects of it, for some reason). But her unexpected interjections were part of what made Joanna valuable. This seemed to amuse Lady Vivienne and she relaxed just a hair, trading all the serious talk for a bit of delicious gossip. That was then very easy to lead in to a larger discussion about her companions in general. Which would set him up to continue such talk at her salon on Friday night. Perfect.

Joanna may not have been a perfect player but she’d been a Red Jenny for a long time now. And that was nearly as good.

 

 

Ian Trevelyan was drinking with Iron Bull and his company. They were brand new to the Inquisition. Cullen had sent a small contingent of his captains to go seek out the Chargers with a prepared letter from Lady Montiliyet setting any preliminary boundaries on any agreements made on behalf of the Inquisition. They had returned just after the Inquisitor had from Halamshiral. Slowly, they were getting to know the band. They were rowdy but professional when they were working and whenever any of the Inquisition command showed up. 

Iron Bull, James had found out, was also a Qunari spy, and had been very open about it. He was moving quickly, getting to know everyone. But the three Trevelyans were basically unknown to Skyhold at large. This was the opportunity to control that knowledge. Ian had hardly needed persuading to go talk to the mercenaries. His younger brother was a Templar, he’d probably seen far more taverns than actual blood mages.

Ian would have agreed. He felt far more comfortable here in the tavern, rather than up in those stuffy rooms with their counterparts from the Circle or Antiva or wherever. 

“Now, I kill _shems_ for money,” Skinner introduced herself, smirking at him with her dark eyes.

“What else will you do to _shems_ for money?” Ian asked her, deadpan, and then winked.

She burst out laughing, so did everyone else. Ian grinned. This was better. He liked these kinds of people. And then Varric Tethras sauntered over. 

“Tiny! This is my friend, Hawke.”

“Hey!” Boomed the giant Qunari, reaching over all their heads to shake—

Ian stiffened, turning in his chair. Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. Fucking demon-fighting, abomination-stomping legend. Teamed up with the Templars to take down insane Commander Meredith! She was…somehow smaller than he’d thought she would be. She was barely a head taller than Varric. And then he realized they were making introductions.

When it came to him, he lurched up awkwardly from his chair. “Lady Hawke, hi, uh—I’m Ian Trevelyan. I’m just the Inquisitor’s brother. Uh—but—I’ve heard of you—I mean, of course I have. I was a Templar, so I heard about Kirkwall. I mean, you know.” And then his smile fell, belatedly thinking how terrible that would be to bring up.

Varric’s eyes sharpened on him. He _felt_ it. But Hawke smiled kindly. “Ah, yes—I’m sure the stories are all crazy by now, right? Do I breathe fire and have dragon wings?” 

Ian laughed, relieved of embarrassing himself for saying something too bluntly. “I mean, that’s what I’m gonna tell people,” he told her, grinning and comically shrugging his shoulders. 

“Add in that I have Veil Quartz eyes! All spooky and color-changing!” Hawke beamed and took in the table. “Iron Bull’s Chargers, I hear, right? How about a round on me? Round on me! As a welcome to our dysfunctional family!”

Ian watched how seamlessly Hawke spoke to all these strangers. She seemed comfortable around them. 

Varric came to stand beside his chair while Hawke smiled and shook hands with each mercenary. “Just relax, she won’t bite.”

“Master Tethras,” Ian greeted him and offered him a mug of ale. The dwarf accepted, sliding into the seat next to him. 

“So, you’re the Inquisitor’s older brother.”

“That would be me, Ian. I’m two years older than Amarina.”

“Your other two siblings are pretty intense, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. James like the Game and Joanna hates everyone.”

“She mentioned her sister a time or two and also James, saying the same thing—he really likes the Game, she hates everyone. But Quizzers didn’t say much about you. Just that you had joined the Chantry.”

Ian shrugged a little. “Uh, well—I mean, we were closest in age but we didn’t really hang out, I guess. I started training with the master-at-arms at six, they made her go do instruments and songs and boring shit like that. I don’t like the Game and so, uh, while I was in Val Royeaux, ha—I joined the Templars. And didn’t tell anyone for, like, six months.”

Varric grinned at him. “Oh, I bet they didn’t like that.”

“Nope. They did not. My father almost disowned me.”

“Hey fancypants,” Sera greeted, sitting on the other side of the table and pulling the pitcher towards herself. “Here to chat us up, bootstomper?”

“Oh, I’ve heard to avoid you, Lady Sera.”

She grimaced at him. “Lady Sera, oh yeah, that’s me all right! You dumb sop. Why are you nobles so stupid?”

Ian threw his hands up and look to Varric. “What’d I say?” He asked plaintively. “That’s what I heard. Avoid the elf, she’ll rob you blind.”

“Well, that’s true,” Varric agreed. 

“They tell your sister that? Joanna,” Sera sneered on the name. “Or maybe I’ll steal all her gold and see how she likes it.”

Ian shrugged. “I mean, she only took over the family because she was next to inherit. She doesn’t really give a shit about all this politics and stuff. That’s why she has James.” 

“Amari is nice, at least. Polite, I guess. But you best not think you’ll be throwing your weight around. Inquisitor might be different for a noble, but I’ll guess you three are awful.”

“She assumes,” Varric added helpfully, voice dry and amused. “It’s not really personal so much as it’s just her default story.”

Ian shrugged. “Guy’s got to make a living. You rob nobles, I got a job.” He shrugged. “If I was smart like Varric, maybe I’d be an author, but I’m not. So yep, was born a third son to a noble house, with no interest in the political bullshit. So, like Amarina, we had to be prepared to find our own way. Joanna wanted nothing to do with it either but she was next to inherit after Ethan. But he died at the Conclave,” and for a moment, Ian looked down at his ale, “so she returned home, but if she chose to pass it off—she would select James. He’s older than me and, honestly, better at that stuff. So what good was it for me to stay there?” He waved a hand at Sera. “So go ahead, or whatever. You steal and bullshit people, I tried to learn to protect them.”

“I give the little people a way to stick it to ones like you.”

Ian crossed his arms. “Really? So replacing the Kitchen’s sugar with salt accomplishes that, how?”

“Because the Inquisition can’t get too serious—“

“You mean by how you got two of the kitchen girls whipped because they were in charge of the sugar and didn’t pause to check before using it in a cake and several tarts that were supposed to go to the builders, who have been working day and night to make this place livable?”

“The trouble is with the Cook—“

“Or like how you doused Lady Josephine in a bucket of water so that the kitchen staff would get a laugh. Nevermind the poor lad who had to clean it up, nevermind that she was carrying documents that would now have to be entirely rewritten by hand, taking her hours of unnecessary work when she already has so much to do? Nevermind that you cost Lady Josephine a meeting that could have secured aid for Inquisition soldiers and their families because he was soaked as well, then took sick and returned south. Right? You got a laugh. The kitchen staff got a laugh. And they spread the story everywhere. So when we get word from Emprise du Leon about how we don’t have enough winter uniforms, should Josephine redirect freezing men and woman to you? Supposedly sticking it to nobles but mostly just dicking over anyone who isn’t a Red Jenny?”

“Oh, and how do you know that he would have! Lord Whositwhatsit telling you what he’s about? You just tell him you’re Lord Templar Trevelyan and they come barking for you?”

Varric looked between them, interested. 

“I don’t. But neither do _you._ That’s the point. You don’t know either. Because you can’t be bothered to think about consequences. That’s why I hardly had to ask three people and they told me tons of shit about you.”

“You missed the point, helm-polisher. I _want_ them to know me. I’m a Red Jenny. What would you know about Jennies anyway!”

Ian half-smiled. “Joanna is one. You didn’t catch that?”

Sera started. “What!”

“Titles are only as good as the people who have them. She’s a Red Jenny—I assume Master Tethras here already knew,” and here he gestured to Varric, who nodded. “And she makes sure our people are treated very well. She is using her power as a noble to _help_ people. But hey, kid, you switched out the Kitchen’s sugar with salt and made sure that a ton of ingredients just went to waste—when it’s already difficult to get merchants to come here. And the builders got no tarts. Because you wanted a laugh at the expense of two poor kitchen girls, crying in the cellar?”

“That was _not—!”_

“You’ve been busy,” Iron Bull said thoughtfully, settling down beside Sera. He eyed Ian. “Talking to lots of people, eh?”

“Doesn’t take much. This _is_ a tavern, after all. I have learned way too many things about my little sister that I didn’t need to know.”

“Like what,” Varric asked, to derail the building argument that might have definitely been building with Sera. 

“Oh, how many of her companions she’s supposedly bedded. Demons she’s consorted with. How the commander is enchanted or something. And then there’s that kid—Cole? No one seems to know what to make of him—I mean, those who remember his presence. I’m not sure why he let me remember him. Oh, and the Tevinter—everyone is buzzing about that. Not so much in the Free Marches but in Orlais, definitely.” 

“She’s also a hot red-head,” Iron Bull informed him.

“Ugh—geez, that doesn’t matter so much to me, big guy. She’s my sister. But yes, I’ve been told that more times than I care to count.” Ian huffed, rolling his eyes. 

“I mean, you’re a hot red-head too, don’t get me wrong. I’d fuck either one of you. Or both of you, but that might be weird for you two….being siblings and all.”

Ian jerked in his seat like he’d been pricked with a pin. Abruptly, his ears turned red. He huffed again, in dismissal this time but didn’t seem to have a response prepared. 

Sera burst out laughing, so did Varric and Iron Bull. Ian finally couldn't help it, grinning helplessly and flipping them all off.

 

 

Amarina, meanwhile, stood quiet and contemplative in the rotunda. She peered intently at the plaster paintings, incredible detail, symbolism, colorful and bold, exquisite work. Solas leaned, loose and easy against a pole of his scaffold. He was flecked in his paints but he never seemed to notice. So tall and limber, he would seem to make anything elegant. Again, Amarina could picture him easily in dark silver samite, embroidered hems of green leaves, a wreath of flowers and an elegant staff. It was silly and indulgent and very much placed him square in the middle of the elvhen stereotype.

That sudden thought made her halt on imagining any lovely or kinder things and she got closer to study the strokes. “Do you plan them ahead?”

“In a way,” Solas told her with that mysterious smile, “can you guess?”

“The Fade?” She answered and laughed. “I believe that’s usually a good guess to go with when it comes to you.”

“You aren’t wrong—on both accounts, Inquisitor. In the Fade, one can create whatever they can imagine. I am able to see it at will. It helps guide my strokes.”

“Is this an elven style?” Amarina asked, sounding like she could guess the answer. 

“The elves of Arlathan lived hundreds, thousands of years. After so long to live and study all the things one might want to paint, I imagine it came easily to them. With no planning at all. Mortals live such short lives, it is difficult to even comprehend living that long.”

“You say buildings hold history, Solas—what about _this_ place? Does Skyhold have no memories of its own?”

“No doubt it does. Though it may be empty of such spirits who could reflect them.”

Amarina took a moment to chew on that. “I could look though, if I gained enough control over the Anchor?”

Solas was still for just a moment and then nodded. “I imagine that is so, Inquisitor. You walked in Dreams, looking for memories should merely take practice.” 

Before she could ask another question, Hawke suddenly entered the rotunda. Her black hair was pulled into a loose tail and her eyes were bright and blue. “Inquisitor,” she greeted politely and then studied Solas. “Greetings Master Solas.”

“Lady Hawke, may I help you?” Amarina asked politely.

“I just came to admire the paintings and to ask you a quick question, if you’d permit?”

“Of course, anything,” Amarina answered. She knew all about Kirkwall and had admired the stories of Lady Hawke and her friends, dealing justice in a city plagued by red lyrium. A taste of what was to come if Corypheus had his wish, no doubt. It didn't seem as adventurous now, to be honest.

Solas paused on his scaffold, looking down at them but Hawke simply waved him down to join them. “You can stay—you might know something about this—from what I’ve heard about you.” Solas’ gaze sharpened on her but the Champion turned back to the Inquisitor. “You saw the dragon at Haven—but folks here tell me it doesn’t seem to be a true Archdemon, just a regular dragon but probably afflicted with Blight, the poor thing.” Hawke looked up at the painting of Haven’s destruction.

Amarina looked sidelong at the other woman, studying her steady blue eyes, the small runes tattooed behind her ear. One for each family member she’d lost in Kirkwall. She’d cried silently while reading _A Tale of the Champion_ when Hawke’s brother perished in the Deep Roads and worse at the death of her poor mother. This woman had suffered so much but did not seem mean-spirited at all. She stepped away from Cullen gracefully, harboring no ill feelings towards her or him. But there was a tired sort of sadness around her eyes, despite her attempts to smile. _She is bothered by something._

“I saw a dragon outside of Lothering. It transformed into a woman, Flemeth. You know of her?”

“Only from stories,” Amarina admitted.

Hawke turned expectantly to Solas, so he said, “The Woman of Many Years, often described as a crone who will work for or against other characters depending on her own ends.”

“Well, it just so happens that the Hero of Ferelden, Victor Cousland, and Alistair Theirin _also_ ran into a woman claiming to be Flemeth, who turned into a dragon and saved them from darkspawn. And while I can’t know if she is who she claims to be—I do know that the Flemeth Warden Cousland met had a daughter who went with them on their journey. Morrigan, the witch who returned with you from Halamshiral.”

Amarina went still. “Who was this woman you met? She saved you, you said?”

“She appeared to us when we fled Lothering. She gave me a pendant to transport across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. I wouldn’t claim the woman to be treacherous, but I would bet about five thousand royals that it was _not_ an accident that Cousland and I met her when we did. Now, you’re here, Inquisitor. This is Kirkwall on a larger scale. I would just keep an eye and ear out for that woman.” Hawke took a deep breath, looking at the ground for a moment. 

_There is still something else._ “Lady Hawke, any guidance you might be willing to give would be much appreciated,” Amarina said gently, and meant it. 

Hawke looked worried again. “Well, I don’t know if I can guide but….look—Flemeth gave me a warning when I spoke with her the second time. Everyone who heard it also is now dead, except for Aveline and Merrill. But I never forgot it.” Hawke’s blue eyes flicked up to Solas. _“We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.”_ She looked haunted suddenly. Like whatever she had already suffered hadn’t been enough? The gods were cruel, if any of them existed. Hawke doubted that they did. “I don’t know what it meant. At first, I thought she meant Kirkwall’s destruction. I mean, it tore itself apart. It was horrible.” Her eyes hardened at Haven’s painting. “But afterwards….it didn’t feel right. I hadn’t leapt, literally or figuratively. I killed Anders myself. But all this,” she gestured towards the rotunda’s story, “this is bigger and I ended up here regardless of my intentions. Something may happen, is what I’m getting at. Something else. And I might make a split-second decision and not consult you.”

“I would not expect you to answer to me, my lady,” Amarina told her.

“I just wanted to be sure that I warned you. I’ll be warning Varric too. Poor guy, that’s all he needs. Poor Varric.....” Hawke crossed her arms. “Leliana and Cullen are also the only two that have met you, me, and Cousland.”

“Do you mean to present this as fated?” Amarina inquired.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Hawke admitted, shrugging. “I just don’t think it is coincidence. I don’t know what this woman Flemeth really is—but I doubt much happens to her by accident. Something bigger is going on. Something we can’t see. Leliana tells me that these Red Templars are hunting for elven ruins. It all seems connected—but we haven’t found all the threads yet. If you run into her, then we’ll know it can’t be happenstance. Maybe she might even know where Warden Cousland is.”

“Warden Cousland might also know what happened to the Grey Wardens,” Amarina mused, looking at the painting as well. “I’d really prefer you not die, if at all possible. We’ve only just met, Lady Hawke.”

Finally, the Champion glanced over at her from the painting. It was a surprisingly careful look, maybe even a little shy. She was shorter than Amarina. “I, uh….I appreciate the sentiment, Inquisitor.”

“Do you believe you are going to die?” Solas inquired, peering at Hawke, suddenly interested. 

“Seems likely. I mean, most of the Hawkes did. Whatever the hell is going on, it is definitely bigger than me. This red lyrium shit is no joke. And all I’ve seen of blood magic is brutality and stupidity. Usually together, unfortunately. And with the Wardens compromised…I don’t know what’s going to happen. No one does. Ha, maybe I shouldn’t have slit Anders’ throat.” Her smile turned miserable and tired again. “But that’s done, if that Rainier is a Grey Warden, then it seems weird that he has no clue what’s going on. But maybe Alistair can tell us more when we reach him.”

“I’ll tell my advisors to prepare for us to leave for Crestwood by mid-week.”

“If you permit, I’d like to ride with you, Inquisitor.” Suddenly, she seemed like Hawke from Varric's books again.

Amarina felt a flicker of hope in her, that perhaps a friendship might be salvaged after all. “I would be honored to have you at my side, Champion. And I know Varric will be pleased.”

“Do you trust your companions, Inquisitor?” 

Amarina did a slight double-take at her, knitting into Hawke's tired blue eyes. “I do, Champion. I can’t pretend to know their minds but I trust them.”

Hawke's gaze was sincere, smiling and sad. “I did too, Inquisitor. Just be aware of the people around you, milady.” 

Amarina watched the woman give her a short bow and excuse herself, hands clasped below her breasts. 

“Wise counsel, Inquisitor,” Solas said quietly but his eyes followed the Champion as she exited.

“Yes,” Amarina had to agree. She took a deep breath, knowing that meant she needed to really start finding her own informants among the Inquisition. Amarina wasn’t looking forward to that. It was a tiring process of prodding folks and trying to keep them from suspecting anything. That was hard. People were smarter than nobles sometimes gave them credit for. And she didn’t like the idea of investigating her friends….and yet, Val Royeaux had been a swift lesson on why it was important. If she’d had an informant on Rainier, she might have avoided the whole disaster and Letheen wouldn’t have been killed. _It was my gullibility and carelessness that caused Letheen’s death._

Of course here, she had something even better than a spy.

She had Cole. His way of speaking was hypnotic. He was entrancing to listen to--and he would have made an excellent partner for the Game. Except for Solas--that wouldn't do. Solas was the one that Cole was....well, something. Something between the mage and the spirit was odd, no doubt. But it was difficult to pin down exactly what. Solas' conversations with Cole often listed to vague half-stories but Solas would also become annoyed if asked about them. 

"Inquisitor!" And Cullen appeared in the hall, striding into the rotunda. He was beaming as he gave a greeting nod to Solas before turning his full attention to Amarina. "We found her."

Her heart thumped to a standstill. "Alexandria?"

"Yes, Inquisitor. In Emprise Du Leon, Scout Harding reports that a mage with red hair and brown eyes was seen along the cliffsides. The mage merely watched them, they assumed, because she wasn't sure who they were. But once Harding had established the camp, the mage approached, saying she'd been told the Inquisition was looking for a Trevelyan mage. Harding says she looks like you, Inquisitor. She insists that she is uncertain if she's the one you're looking for. She has no proof and no phylactery. But, she named your other siblings, Harding said. Ethan, Joanna, James and Ian--but not you."

"Joanna told me Alexandria was sent away around the time I was born. So she may not have known my name at all." Amarina fretted with her gloves. "Can we bring her here? Was she injured?" 

"We can bring her here in two days. I already sent the order to arrange for your sister's safe travel to Skyhold."

Amarina felt a rush of affection for Cullen, his thoughtfulness, his responsible nature. He was a man, not a boy. And he had been so kind to her and--

_Solas is still here, remember?_

She touched her commander's arm. "Thank you, Cullen. Thank you so much. I will inform my brothers and Joanna."

Solas did not seem overly bothered. He did, however, excuse himself to follow the human mage from Kirkwall.


End file.
